


Assassination Classroom but minus the Classroom

by primela



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Akabane Karma is a Little Shit, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassin Shiota Nagisa, BAMF Shiota Nagisa, FUCK NAGISAS MOM I DONT EVEN WANNA SAY HER NAME, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Intelligent Shiota Nagisa, M/M, Politican Akabane Karma, Protective Akabane Karma, Timeskip to seven years later, but not like TORTURE violence, but uh if u arent good with blood this isnt for you, there is some violence in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23423077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primela/pseuds/primela
Summary: “Nagisa?” Firm hands are placed on his shoulders as Karma searches Nagisa’s face for confirmation, and when he’s satisfied, he relinquishes his grip. Nagisa slouches over without the support, putting his hand back to his stomach with much discomfort. “What are you doing here? Nobody’s seen you in seven years, idiot, and you decide to break into my house? Can’t say I’m surprised. Typical Nagisa.”(In which Nagisa is chased by deadly assassins and decides to seek shelter in what he thought to be Karma's unused childhood home. Oh, did I mention he's been shot?)
Relationships: Akabane Karma/Shiota Nagisa
Comments: 82
Kudos: 525





	1. A Runaway

**Author's Note:**

> hellooo i know im late with assassination classroom but these two wormed their way into my heart and refuse to budge, so i had to write about them, obviously. 
> 
> i tried my best to write them in character, but a few lines might be off.

Nagisa leaps across the rooftop, suspended midair for a moment before slamming into a concrete roof. He doesn’t know much farther he can make it, with a bullet in his chest. He keeps his hand pressed to it, applying pressure in an attempt to slow the bleeding as well as take away some of the pain (as much pain as one can take away from a bullet wound). The huge, daunting downside of pushing against his wound is that he loses mobility speed, and with two talented assassins on his tail, he knows that he needs to either lose them and hide or kill them, both of which require two arms.

Nagisa doesn’t even need to contemplate his options. If he turned around and attacked, he would be the one dead, and he really,  _ really  _ doesn’t want to be dead so soon. So, by process of elimination, running and hiding it is.

He hops rooftops again, and a bullet whizzes past his shoulder, slicing through the cloth of his shirt. Shoot, such a close gunshot means the assassins can still see him. He doesn’t have the luxury of turning to see their positions, so he’s going to have to play a guessing game. Luckily for him, he’s gotten pretty good at guessing games over the past seven years. 

Ignoring the protest from his injury, Nagisa removes his hand in favor of speed. There’s the risk of bleeding out, yes, but the odds are worse if he allows himself to fall into the hands of his attackers. He’d most likely be tortured for information, then be displayed as an example for anyone who dares mess with Ona Kasumi and his enormous wealth. 

On the bright side, Nagisa knows this place like the back of his hand; after all, it  _ is  _ his hometown. If he can’t lose these people on his own turf, then he has no right being hired as an assassin. Kunugigaoka is filled with spots that only locals know about, and if Nagisa was in any shape for extreme parkour, he’d be running straight for the mountains.  _ Nobody _ can beat him there, except a few members of class 3-E.

He sees a familiar sight in the distance - his old apartment complex. Panic hits him like a stack of bricks, and he sharply turns to the left and springs himself over the particularly large gap between to land on a convenience store, pushing his agony away. No matter what, he cannot go to his old home. His mother and father still live there, and he can’t be seen anywhere near that place; not unless he wants his enemies to suspect a relation between him and the complex residents. They’ll use his mom and dad as hostages to force Nagisa to surrender information, services, and, possibly, his own life, in exchange for his parents’. If that ever happened, Nagisa could never live with himself. So where to go?

An idea strikes him, and Nagisa finds the solution to his problem. Karma’s probably off at work in Tokyo, and his parents moved out of his childhood apartment a few years back (Nagisa’s been keeping track of how his old friends are doing, not just Karma. He would never pay attention to  _ just  _ Karma). It’s the perfect spot! Another bullet flies past him, narrowly missing his head this time, and Nagisa hears a faint angry shouting echo behind him, lost in the night. 

So, the losing his attackers part of the plan hasn’t gone so well, and neither has the hiding part, and killing was previously vetoed, but Nagisa needs to take a risk. He racks his brain for solutions, and one thought stands out; what if he combines the two tactics? Karma’s apartment is a place Nagisa is as familiar with as his own home, and should serve nicely as a spot to lie in wait for his assailants until the time is right. The complex comes into sight, just beyond a delicious ramen shop, and Nagisa picks up his speed. This is life or death. 

With every leap, the apartment comes closer and closer, but Nagisa feels himself flagging, all the events of the day catching up to him.  _ No, Nagisa, no time for self pity. Focus.  _ There hasn’t been a gunshot in a while, which means he must be out of range. Great, that gives him time to prepare once he reaches the apartment.

With one last jump, he presses his arms over his face to protect himself from debris and slams feet-first into a window, glass slicing his arms with a sharp pain that Nagisa is all too aware of. He rolls on impact, distributing his weight and popping back up like a spring, though staying on his feet is a harder task than it seems.

Nagisa’s head just can’t seem to stop spinning, and he puts a bloody hand on a wall to sturdy himself, closing his eyes to keep his lunch down. God, this is not how he imagined this mission would go. Stupid betrayals, stupid rich businessmen, stupid,  _ stupid _ bullet wound! Nagisa almost wishes he were doing something mundane right now, like teaching. Korosensei would probably have laughed at the idea. A monster like him entrusted to pass on his knowledge? It’s laughable. 

A sudden arm around his neck has Nagisa gasping for air, pain tearing through his gut like a tidal wave as he’s roughly pulled to the ground in a headlock. “Well well, it seems I have a visitor in the night!” A deep, drawling voice says, and Nagisa immediately aims for a pressure point in the man’s side, but his arm is snatched before it connects. “We can’t have you fighting now, can we? I’m going to have to get your name and business here, you know. I’m afraid that’s how break-ins go. Anybody else would probably just call the police, but unlucky for you, I’m not anybody else.”

There’s something oddly familiar about that voice and the way he defended himself from Nagisa’s attack, as if he was trained to block, but not even a black belt can combat Nagisa’s speed that easily. Nobody is supposed to be home, but  _ clearly _ someone is, and the obvious conclusion to jump to is that, possibly, the owner of the apartment has decided to pay a visit. But, is it really… 

“Karma?” Nagisa wheezes, the name sputtering weakly past his lips. Instantly, the grip on him slackens and is removed shortly after with a sharp intake of breath from him, and Nagisa is sure in an instant that his prediction was right. His wrist is released, and soon after hands grab the hood from Nagisa’s head and pull it off in a surprisingly gentle manner. A face moves into view, close enough that Nagisa can make out familiar mercury eyes, widened in the only tell of surprise Karma ever gives.

(Of course Nagisa picked up on such a minor thing! Not because he let his gaze linger on Karma or anything back in junior high, but because he’s a genius assassin who picks up on such venial things. Obviously.)

“Nagisa?” Firm hands are placed on his shoulders as Karma searches Nagisa’s face for confirmation, and when he’s satisfied, he relinquishes his grip. Nagisa slouches over without the support, putting his hand back to his stomach with much discomfort. “What are you doing here? Nobody’s seen you in seven years, idiot, and you decide to break into my house? Can’t say I’m surprised. Typical Nagisa.” Karma is crouching at Nagisa’s height, and though it’s hard to make out his friend’s features, he imagines that Karma’s curious. He’s not the type to be scared by these types of things; for example, his missing friend breaking into his home in the dead of night is probably invigorating to him.

“Uh, well, I don’t really have the time to explain right now. There’s these guys- No, not just guys, assassins!” Nagisa manages through gritted teeth, voice pained. He notices Karma raise an eyebrow. “And they’ll probably be here in, like - give me a second - one minute?” Nagisa presses the hand harder to his wound and pushes himself to stand up, dizziness a huge hurdle in the way of such a simple act. He sways dangerously on his feet, stumbling a few steps before suddenly Karma’s in front of him, (When did that happen?) and Nagisa puts an arm on his muscular shoulder to regain his senses. 

“Nagisa, you’re bleeding, you idiot! First you break in, now you want to bleed to death on my carpet?!” Nagisa offers Karma a weak smile, and Karma looks as ruffled as Nagisa’s ever seen him, contrary to his eternal nonchalant tone. “How are you walking right now? That looks like a bullet wound,” Karma says, the sentence sounding like a question, and Nagisa nods weakly, noting the slight hint of concern in his old friend’s voice. It’s been a while since anybody’s been worried about him. It’s a nice feeling.

The moment of peace is interrupted by a figure bursting through the window followed by another. Both are lithe and tall; the build of an ideal assassin. Nagisa takes a deep breath and grabs a knife from its sheath on his belt, releasing Karma. “Nagisa, it hasn’t been one minute,” Karma says with a sigh, ever the cocky student he used to be. 

“Well, sorry my calculations are a little off. I’ve been busy,” Nagisa replies halfheartedly before rushing at the smaller of the two (smaller being 5’11, much to his dismay), and his instincts take over from there. He reaches for an open spot on the man’s side; where he tried to jab Karma earlier; but the assassin catches on and jumps back, as nimble as ever. This might prove to be tougher than Nagosa wanted, but at least it’s a one versus one fight now.

Nagisa sees Karma out of the corner of his eye, his punches as destructive as ever, but the momentary distraction proves to be almost fatal when a knife swipes a hair's breadth from Nagisa’s chest. Nagisa takes the attack and flips it on its head by grabbing the arm and twisting it until he hears a satisfying crack accompanied by the sound of a knife clattering to the ground. The assassin lets out a grunt, which is an impressive reaction to getting your arm broken, but Nagisa cuts it off swiftly by stabbing the man through the heart and twisting, just for good measure.

His aim must have been slightly off, however, because the man howls in pain and brings his fist down on Nagisa’s face, slamming him to the ground hard and leaving the knife in his target. Shoot, he must’ve hit the shoulder instead of the heart, and now he’s lost his favorite blade. Great. 

Nagisa scrambles to pull his second knife from its sheath but a boot connects with his stomach, sending Nagisa rolling across the room with a cry of pain and nausea so extreme Nagisa nearly vomits. “Rhett, don’t kill her! We need her alive for the boss!” Nagisa ignores how his vision is blurring and slowly pulls the knife to his chest, pretending to go limp. He halts his breathing, allowing one last dramatic exhale and closes his eyes, feigning death.

Nagisa hears Karma grunt, followed by a fist connecting with flesh, and it kills Nagisa to not know who’s winning and rely only on his sense of hearing. The next person to speak is the one called Rhett; Nagisa’s attacker is leaning over him, and Nagisa continues to lay motionless. “Uh, Jack, she’s not breathing.” Somebody must have been slammed into a table or something, judging by the smashing of wood and the shattering of what Nagisa assumes is a vase.

“Well, I’m a little busy right now! If she’s dead, we’re next, so fix it!” Jack orders, voice strained from divided attention. Rhett mutters angrily under his breath, grabbing Nagisa by his shirt and pulling him so that he’s laying on his back. 

“Nagisa, now is not the time for naps, so-!” Karma’s cut off and there’s a thump on the ground, and Nagisa finds himself agreeing with Karma. Naptime’s over. 

“What the hell? Why does she have another knife?!” Nagisa eyes open just in time to see Rhett reaching for the weapon, and Nagisa grabs his wrist and yanks, pulling him onto his blade, this time not missing the heart. Just that small movement makes Nagisa bite his lip so no pitiful whimpers escape him, pulling the blade out and rolling away just in time to not be crushed by the body. Rhett’s blood spills onto him, mingling with his own and staining his black shirt. Nagisa hurriedly looks over to Karma, who’s raising Nagisa’s lost dagger. (Apparently Rhett removed the dagger from his shoulder. Rookie move. The knife was stopping the bleeding, and without it, he runs a greater risk of bleeding out.)

“Don’t!” Nagisa shouts, but Karma brings the knife down, plunging it deep in the assassin’s heart. Nagisa winces at the squelching sound, watching as Karma tears the knife back out and wipes the blood off on his jacket. Black spots dance across Nagisa’s vision, and he can’t find the strength to rise and dispose of the bodies. 

Karma stares at the body for a moment, eyes widening in that surprised look of his, and Nagisa smiles fondly. He’s missed Karma, more than words can say. And then, Nagisa promptly collapses in a pool of his own blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's not much fluff yet, but good things come to those who wait, so be patient. i want nothing more than for these two to be happy and mushy and gross together, but i wanna make em suffer first eheheheh. also i didnt really edit this that much so grammar errors are inevitable whoops
> 
> comments are my number one motivator, and i dont care if you want to tell me my story SUCKED, it's something! thank you and hope you enjoyed this chapter


	2. A Politician

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is cursing in this, so if you are sensitive to that stuff, just a head's up.
> 
> sooo im not sure about how many chapters the final product will have, this is getting longer than i anticipated.

Karma hears Nagisa fall before he sees him.

He was too busy stressing internally over the fact that he, a renowned politician, just murdered an assassin and felt absolutely no remorse over it. The main concern he felt was over how if this got out, it could be a huge scandal, and Karma can’t afford scandals. Of course, his job is secured; the government can’t afford to lose a mind like his; but the public wouldn’t love him nearly as much if they found out he killed a man.

As solutions float through his brain, the sound of a body hitting the floor draws his attention.  _ Shit, Nagisa’s bleeding out! _ Politics forgotten, he scrambles over to his friend and falls to his knees next to him, fear staking his heart when he sees the puddle of red beneath Nagisa’s crumpled form. Has Nagisa always looked this frail? Is that all his own blood, or is some the assassin’s? It can’t all be Nagisa’s, there’s no way.

Wasting no time, he lifts Nagisa up, cradling him to his sturdy chest while rushing over to his kitchen table. Nagisa’s light enough that he can afford to use one arm to swipe the flower pot and plates off of it, the glass shattering on the ground, but Karma doesn’t care. Nothing on earth is more important than Nagisa’s life.

Careful to cradle his head, Karma lowers Nagisa onto the table, then hurries away to his bathroom. He tears through a cabinet under the sink, throwing everything that isn’t medical off to the side in a frenzy until he finds the First-Aid kit. He grabs the handle of the red case and basically sprints back to Nagisa, refusing to allow time one more second to steal Nagisa from him. 

The bleeding seems to be coming from Nagisa’s naval area, and Karma doesn’t have time to save the fabric of his shirt, so he uses the medical scissors to cut the cloth a few inches above Nagisa’s belly button. A nasty gunshot wound, sticky with blood, looks out of place on him, and Karma feels rage boil deep in his gut. He wants to punch something, now, but he restrains himself when he hears Nagisa whimper.  _ That _ spurs him back into action,

Karma feels Nagisa’s back for blood, and upon finding none, it’s obvious that the bullet is still inside Nagisa. Karma feels slightly nauseous, knowing what he has to do, but there’s no avoiding it. He should consider himself lucky that he’d read the part on dealing with gunshot wounds in Korosensei’s guidebook more than a few times to be ready in case an assassination attempt was ever performed on him. Nature must be cruel, because his prediction proved to be half-true; the only thing he had gotten wrong was the victim.

With a deep breath, Karma sets to work.

\-----

Ever-so-carefully, Karma slips his old hoodie over a sleeping Nagisa’s head, pulling his skinny, bandaged arms through the sleeves slowly so as not to rouse him. After that exhausting night of prying the bullet from his friend, picking glass from his sliced arms, and tending to injuries of his own, here they are, Nagisa laying in Karma’s childhood bed, Karma perched in an uncomfortable kitchen chair he dragged to his bedroom.

Nagisa’s lost a lot of blood, but thankfully, it hadn’t been too much, otherwise Nagisa would have been six feet under by now. Karma fluffs the old pillows before maneuvering Nagisa so that his head is positioned comfortably on them, and he pulls the comforter up to his chin. Satisfied with his work, Karma allows himself to rest, slouching back in the chair and closing his eyes, willing sleep to come.

Instead of the familiar blackness of the back of his eyelids, images of Nagisa, bloodied and battered, curled in a ball on the ground haunt him, and Karma realizes quickly that sleep will not be finding him anytime soon. 

When he opens his eyes, Nagisa sleeps soundly in the same position as before, and Karma pulls out his phone to check the time. Five-thirty six in the morning. He must have gotten some sleep after all in what felt like a simple blink, though his fatigue remains. So much happened so quickly: just a day ago, he gets the call that his old apartment might be destroyed to make room for a park, so he rushes back to his hometown, expecting to say hi to a few old friends if he had the time. Nagisa was not expected to be one of them.

Nobody had seen Nagisa since graduation, not even his own parents. It’s like he vanished into thin air, and soon, his name was one that people would only whisper like a dark secret, grief heavy with each word. His classmates were devastated, but nobody could say that they were surprised. From the moment Nagisa’s knife pierced Korosensei’s heart, the young boy screaming in anguish, Nagisa changed. He withdrew from the others, refusing to talk to anyone when they slept in the schoolhouse. When they all left to attend their graduation ceremony, Karma noticed that Nagisa hadn’t even taken the yearbook and guide to life Korosensei had left behind. His strange behavior was obvious to everyone.

Then, he was gone. 

Once Karma came into power as a wealthy politician, he used his sources to uncover information about a new assassin who just so happened to join the game a few weeks after Nagisa’s disappearance. He would never just give up on Nagisa. It took him over a year to pinpoint which assassin Nagisa was due to the fact that he was classified as a female rather than a male, but the name Viper is what sold Nagisa out to him. It was all-too reminiscent of Nagisa’s suffocating fighting style. Somehow, though, Karma wasn’t the least bit surprised. He suspected Nagisa was an assassin long before confirming it; that theory is what set him on the right path to find Nagisa, otherwise it would have been impossible.

Nagisa runs with the underworld. Not only does he run with it, he borderline  _ runs it _ . And here the Viper is, snoring in Karma’s old bed, looking every bit the child Karma befriended when they were first years. Karma knows that he should probably be wary of Nagisa; he has no clue how much Nagisa’s changed over the past seven years, and for all Karma knows, he’s here on a job to assassinate him that just went wrong. Or it could have been staged for Nagisa to infiltrate. He honestly has no clue.

Karma watches Nagisa’s face constrict painfully for a moment, and he turns his head to the side so that it’s facing Karma, blue hair flopping over his sweat-slicked forehead. Karma presses the back of his hand to Nagisa’s head, checking for a fever, and curses when he feels the heat radiating from the boy. He gets up to get supplies.

A few minutes later, Karma’s back in his bedroom with a cold towel and a glass of water. He sets the water on his nightstand, careful to not spill any on the lamp, and folds the towel before placing it on Nagisa’s head. Medical treatment has never been Karma’s specialty, but he’s not  _ completely _ uninformed about it, so he hopes that this will help.

He doesn’t expect Nagisa to open his eyes in the middle of Karma swiping his bangs from his forehead. Karma retracts his hand immediately upon seeing Nagisa awake, but he’d have to be blind to miss how Nagisa’s eyes are glazed with fever. 

Nagisa groans, squeezing his eyes shut and shifting around a little in the bed tentatively. “Morning, sunshine,” Karma says, reaching for the water. “Drink up.” Nagisa squints at Karma, recognition lighting up his face.

“Karma?” The word is slurred and slow, and Karma replies, “That’s my name, now drink.” He puts the glass to Nagisa’s lips, waiting for them to part before slowly pouring the water. He nearly dumps the rest of the glass on Nagisa when he whips his head away suddenly with a pout, but thankfully Karma reacts quickly enough to spare Nagisa from a watery demise. “Aw, is someone throwing a fit? Now’s not really a good time for that, hate to tell you.”

“Where’s Mom?” Nagisa asks, and Karma shoots him a look. His mom? Why is he worried about her? Did something happen?

“Back in your apartment. Why?” If Karma didn’t know any better, he’d say that Nagisa looked nervous, almost scared. His blue eyes are clouded with more than uncertainty, but Karma can’t quite place it. Something’s up. 

“Karma, she’s tryin’ to make me leave class 3-E. You can’t let her,” Nagisa says, stumbling over his words, and Karma feels like he’s been punched. Of course, Nagisa’s delirious. He must think that he’s back in school with Karma. That explains his borderline-childish behavior and slur. Damn, this fever’s nothing to sneeze it, apparently. He’ll have to check for infection soon.

A hand grabs Karma’s sleeve and tugs, pulling his attention back. Nagisa looks downright terrified now, with his huge eyes and furrowed eyebrows. The sight of Nagisa so  _ vulnerable  _ makes Karma want to stomp back out to the bodies he shoved in the kitchen and rescusitate them just to murder them again. “I don’t wanna leave, but she’ll make me, she will,” Nagisa sniffles, his eyes welling up. Oh  _ shit _ , he’s about to cry. 

“Woah woah, calm down Nagisa! You don’t have to be scared or anything, it’ll all work out. Just trust me, okay?” Karma ruffles the sick kid’s hair, and Nagisa looks up at Karma with puppy dog eyes. Karma wishes that Nagisa had stabbed him instead; it would have hurt less. 

“You don’t understan’ Karm,  I can’t even tell ‘er no. I tried,” Nagisa recalls as if the event had happened just a few hours earlier, and Karma feels awkward. Should he go with it? That’s probably the best option. 

“Hey, just take a breath,” Karma says in the most soothing voice he can manage. Surprisingly, Nagisa listens, taking a painfully-shakey inhale. “Your mom’s going to let you stay with us, don’t worry about it.” Nagisa looks so hopeful then that Karma wants to slap Nagisa’s mom across the face for ever sowing anything other than joy in her child. 

Karma knows all about Hiromi Shiota, that bitch. Nagisa never liked to talk about his family issues with Karma, but he had witnessed all the damage in ways that other people didn’t pick up on: how Nagisa was scared of being left behind thanks to his dad, the way he always looked like he was one second away from bolting when he’s with his mother, and how he complained about his hair yet never cut it. It disgusted him then and still does now, but Karma suspects that Nagisa still loves his mother, despite her grossly abusing him.

Karma wishes the Nagisa hated his mother so that he could give her what she deserves; he  _ is  _ a government official now, he could easily pull a few strings to get her jail time.

“Karma?” Nagisa says slowly, like he needs to put extra effort into each syllable. Karma hums in response. “Thank you.” Karma doesn’t deserve to be thanked, he hasn’t done anything special for Nagisa or anything. Still, he feels his face heat up.

“You can thank me by going back to sleep, loser,” he replies, and Nagisa’s nose scrunches and he looks away. If Karma didn’t know better, it’s almost like he’s throwing a little fit. Karma thinks it’s cute, in a way. Nagisa’s reliving his teenage years yet he’s acting like a toddler.

“Hey, I didn’t leave room for arguing there. Just count some sheep and bam, you’re out,” Karma continues, leaning forward a bit for a more threatening effect. Nagisa snorts unexpectedly and shoves a hand in Karma’s face, pushing him back with all the force he can muster (which isn’t much, thanks to his injuries and sickness and overall shrimpiness), but Karma allows it. 

“You don’ scare me. I know when you’re tryna be scary,” Nagisa laughs, more to himself than to Karma, and the sound is so pure that Karma doesn’t feel worthy of it. Karma goes to tell him to shut up and sleep, but Nagisa’s eyes are closed and his breathing’s already evened out, his hand tucked to his chest in a way that looks completely uncomfortable. Karma sighs and massages his temples with his fingers, a headache beginning to pound. This is ten times more stressful than his job, and that’s really saying something. 

The next time Nagisa wakes is not as peaceful as the first. Karma had checked for infection when changing Nagisa’s bandages after the whole delirious thing and was concerned to find the wound red, hot, and smelling terribly. He had suspected infection upon seeing how out of it Nagisa was but hoped for the best nonetheless, which turned out to be a mistake.

Karma watches as the sun rises through a window opposite him, the orange light of morning beginning to shine through and illuminating Nagisa’s pale face. (Should he be that pale? Karam should look it up soon.) 

It’s well into the morning when Nagisa begins to make strange faces, his brow crinkling and his mouth opening a closing, similar to a fish out of water, gaping for air. Karma recognizes what’s happening immediately; nightmare. He isn’t sure whether or not he should wake Nagisa, and for the first time in a while, uncertainty crashes into him. Right now, Nagisa resting is the most crucial part to him healing swiftly, and knowing Nagisa, he’ll probably want to hurry back to his work soon.

Then, Nagisa starts panting, his breaths coming much too short to be healthy, and that’s when Karma decides to interfere. He puts his hand on Nagisa’s shoulder and shakes him gently. “Up, Nagisa, up. I’ll eat your breakfast if you don’t get up now.”

He doesn’t expect Nagisa’s own hand to grab Karma’s wrist and twist painfully, employing a tactic Karma recognized instantly from fighting Karasuma, but the suddenness of it has him nearly jumping back and retaliating out of pure instinct. Karasuma had trained him well, and he hadn’t left those skills untouched in the past years, but even then Nagisa’s attack caught him off guard. “Oy, let go. You got the wrong guy here, but those assassins are still in the living room, if you want round two,” he bargains,.

Nagisa’s eyes crack open at the sound of Karma’s voice, and he releases the arm upon inspecting Karma closely, looking him up and down. Karma wonders what he’s searching for. Nagisa, seemingly satisfied for now, starts staring at the ceiling wordlessly with unfocused eyes. Karma tries not to act ruffled, but that attack hurt like a motherfucker, and seeing Nagisa, resident assassin and childhood best friend, acting like he’s clueless in life, puts him on edge.

They stay like that for a while, the silence only slightly awkward to Karma, and he wonders if Nagisa is still seven years younger. 

“I killed him,” Nagisa says suddenly, his voice a strange mixture of dissociated awe. Out of all the things Nagisa could’ve said,  _ that  _ was not what he was expecting. What’s even worse is that Karma isn’t even sure of who he’s referring to, with his new occupation and all. Playing into Nagisa’s last daydream was easy enough, with how he acted so young, but now, it’s like there’s a certain clarity to his delirium that Karma knows he can’t handle with his usual quips. 

“Who?” Karma asks, and Nagisa’s head turns to him before reaching a shaky hand out to grip Karma’s shirt, as if to ground himself. Karma doesn’t mind, and though he’s a little confused, he ensures that his face shows no evidence of that. Karma watches Nagisa closely as he seemingly thinks hard about something, but ultimately decides against it and turns to look out the window, hand slipping from his shirt to dangle off of the bed. Karma feels slightly disappointed, but doesn’t take offense. Nagisa’s confused right now. For all Karma knows, he could just be describing something in his nightmare, not real life, but the logical, more dominant part of him doubts that.

Nagisa must have dozed off again, and Karma wishes he could do the same, but the thought of resting while watching over Nagisa is comparable, in his mind, to sending a lamb to slaughter, despite the lack of an actual threat to defend him from. He just _ needs  _ to be awake right now, but his body disagrees, mostly because that earlier fight was no easy task.

It was closer than Karma could have liked. He was watching out for Nagisa, who literally fell while standing just moments before attempting to kick a well trained assassin’s ass. Karma was slightly rusty, though he’d rather die than admit that, and was pretty evenly matched. It reminded him, in the moment, of when he fought Nagisa in junior high; fighting assassins is never fun, what with their nimble fighting styles the opposite of Karma’s brute force.

Then, Nagisa went down. Karma was so convinced that he was dead that his focus slipped from the fight, allowing the assassin to tackle him into his favorite coffee table. He couldn’t even feel the pain at the time, because all that was on his mind was _ Nagisa _ . Does that make Nagisa his weakness? No, Karma doesn’t have weaknesses.

His body aches now, everything catching up with him, and soon he finds his head on the bed, right next to Nagisa’s hip, and he finally allows the familiar wave of sleep to take him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is killing me next chapter is gonna have more fluff because there is currently NONE in this story other than karma being nagisa's doctor or something lol. anyways, hope u guys liked it! if you have literally ANY feedback, pls comment below!!! also why is it showing two end notes what did i do


	3. An Assassin

Nagisa wonders if he’s dead.

  


It certainly feels like it. The pain in his abdomen is like nothing he’s ever felt before, and that’s saying a lot, given his occupation and all. His head pounds constantly, and he feels like he’s been set on fire from the inside. Logically, he knows that feeling these things confirms that he is indeed very much alive, and as an alive person, he should probably wake up.

  


With much effort, Nagisa finally manages to open his eyes a little, forcing them to adjust to the light of Karma’s bedroom.

  


Wait a minute, Karma’s bedroom? Karma’s bedroom! 

  


That wakes him up immediately, exhaustion shoved to the side as he realizes that, not only is he in Karma’s bedroom, he’s been tucked into his bed, comforter drawn up to his chin. He feels his cheeks flush instantly, and Nagisa brings his hands up to cover his face, though, for what reason, he’s not sure. It’s not like anybody's watching him.

  


And that’s when he hears the whistle of a breath next to him. Nagisa gulps because he knows exactly who it is without even looking. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to look because he thinks he might  _ actually _ die this time.

  


Nagisa takes a deep breath; he is a world-renowned assassin. He’ll be fine. He’s dealt with politicians a million times more evil and despicable than the one whose home he’s in. This is nothing. Very,  _ very  _ slowly, Nagisa turns his head, expecting to see Karma’s intense gaze upon him, mouth twisted in a smirk that tells Nagisa he’s about to poke fun at the fact that he kept his hair long or something stupid. Nagisa isn’t in the mood to deal with that right now.

  


Instead, he sees Karma’s cherry-red hair fanned out on the mattress next to Nagisa’s hip, contrasting starkly with the pale blue of the sheets. His face is peaceful for once, those eyes hidden away, no malice in sight; a rare sight to see with Karma Akabane. Nagisa feels his breath catch in his throat the longer he stares, but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to.

  


Last night is a blur, but he remembers what happened. (Was it even last night? He has no idea how much time has passed.) He recalls racing through Kunugigaoka by rooftop and remembers crashing through Karma’s window because it was the only idea he could think of, but there’s nothing after that. Nagisa can make assumptions, though, based on Karma’s presence and the fact that Nagisa isn’t being tortured currently. They must’ve won.

  


Nagisa was in a tight spot last night, but right now, with Karma sleeping beside him, he feels an uncertainty he hasn’t felt in months - no, years. At least assassination is something he’s familiar with, but interacting with a childhood friend that he just up and left without a word?  _ That’s _ a little more difficult, in Nagisa’s opinion. 

  


His body moves on autopilot, and the next thing he knows, he’s brushing the bangs from Karma’s face, his hand combing Karma’s hair in a way that Nagisa remembers wishing his mother did to him. Nagisa allows himself this moment of peace because he knows what he has to do next.

  


There’s no way he can stay with Karma for any longer. At least twelve hours have passed since the initial attack, and Nagisa knows that it won’t end with just those assassins. If Ona Kasumi wants Nagisa badly enough to hire two assassins, he won’t stop there. It almost makes him regret defying him.

  


Almost.

  


Nagisa reluctantly pulls his hand back to him, smiling slightly when he sees how Karma’s hair sticks up without his hand smoothing it down. With a sigh, Nagisa gingerly begins to pull the comforter off of him so as not to disturb Karma, the small movement enough to earn a wince and wonder how he’s going to walk. That’s when he notices that he’s wearing a hoodie, not his assassin gear.

  


He probably should feel some panic at being separated from his weapons in foreign territory, but was it really so foreign? Besides, there’s something that seems arguably more important; that the hoodie  _ definitely  _ belongs to Karma. Nagisa, once again, feels the blood rush to his face, but this time he’s able to ignore it in favor of checking on his well being.

  


He peels the hoodie up his chest to reveal bandages wrapped around him, no red leaking through, much to Nagisa’s relief. Maybe the world  _ doesn’t _ hate him as much as he speculates.

  


Channeling all his assassin training, Nagisa bites his lip to stifle his whimpers as he slides off the bed on the side opposite of Karma, palms pressed against where his pain is radiating from in his gut. He puts some pressure on one foot, testing it out, before standing up fully. The hoodie drops down to just above his knees, and Nagisa finds himself scowling. When did Karma outgrow him so much? It was one thing seeing his height on television or in photos, but in person, he’s a giant compared to Nagisa. It’s annoying.

  


Moving at the speed of a turtle, Nagisa shuffles over to the closet, making sure to not make a noise when he turns the knob and opens the door. Nagisa, leaning heavily on the wall, looks the closet over; if his stuff is in here, he’d notice it, but there’s nothing there except Karma’s old clothes, so Nagisa leaves in a sour mood. His stuff’s probably in the kitchen or living room then.

  


Soundlessly, Nagisa slips out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, leaning on the counter the moment he can reach it to take some pressure off of his aching body. He scans the counter for the familiar flash of the silver of his blades, and upon finding nothing, he stumbles toward the kitchen table awkwardly, putting both hands down to stabilize himself. Falling is the last thing he wants to do.

  


The flakey texture has Nagisa looking down at the table, noting its peculiar color. Has this table always been so red? Nagisa squints at it for a moment before realizing what it is, and he goes cold all over like he’s been dunked in ice water. He takes back his hands if he’s been burned, reaching back for the sofa to steady himself rather than a bloodied table, but he undershoots the distance and plummets to the ground with a yelp of surprise.

  


Pain explodes in Nagisa’s side when he hits the ground with a loud thud, and he can’t hold back the groan as he draws his knees to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut. What was he saying about not falling? 

  


He hears a panicked shout from the bedroom. “Nagisa?!” Footsteps follow, and Nagisa opens his eyes, only to be greeted by even more crimson staining the carpet, surrounding him like a sick joke of a halo. Ignoring the jab of searing pain, Nagisa scrambles away from the stain, back pressing against the wall, hand to his chest. That can’t be all his, can it? There’s no way he has that much blood.

  


But he knows that he does. He’s watched it pour from other people by his own hand. It never phased him before, but knowing that he’s the one who nearly died makes for a shocking wake-up call. He hears Karma’s heavy footsteps, and then he’s kneeling right in front of Nagisa, blocking his view of the stained floor with his muscular body. 

  


His sure hands lift Nagisa’s (Karma’s?) sweatshirt and pry his hand away, examining the bandages with prodding fingers and a stream of curses, but Nagisa can’t draw his attention away from the carpet. He strains himself to stare at it over Karma’s shoulder and swallows dryly. “This is all from me?”

  


Nagisa feels Karma’s gaze rest on him as he asks, “Is what all from you?” He follows where Nagisa’s looking, and Nagisa swears he pales the slightest bit, which does  _ not  _ make him feel better. “That’s barely anything, don’t worry about it. Right now, we need to restitch your bullet wound. It reopened when you fell.” 

  


Nagisa nods, allowing Karma to grab his wrist and push the hand back to the injury. “Don’t move,” he orders and rushes off, leaving Nagisa to his traitorous thoughts. Why does he feel so bad about this? He knows he had no choice if he wanted to escape with life other than to seek refuge in Karma’s apartment, but bleeding everywhere and ruining the place in the presence of Karma Akabane is not what he was expecting, so this is an exception.

  


Not to mention that, by the sight of all this blood, he could have  _ died _ . Being an assassin, death is always a possibility; he’d have to be stupid to not know that. But never has he come so close to the next world. There have been major injuries before, yes, but nothing that put him out of the game for over two weeks. This might take a little while to fully recover from. 

  


Karma returns with a red medical kit in hand and sets it on the ground, digging through it and pulling out a needle and thread. What he said earlier comes back to Nagisa, and he looks down at his bandages, retracting his hand. His throat contracts when he sees the blood leaking through, some even coating his palm.

  


Karma begins to unwrap the bandages from Nagisa, peeling them off carefully, and Nagisa watches as the bullet wound is revealed.

  


It’s a gross, disgusting mess, but Nagisa finds himself observing it closely. It’s red all around, and when Nagisa tries to touch the surrounding skin, Karma snatches his hand. “Don’t touch it,” he reprimands, and Nagisa doesn’t bother to struggle, “it’s an open wound now. We can’t risk that.” Nagisa scolds himself internally for not thinking of that sooner, but his mind is slightly hazy right now, hindering his train of thought.

  


Karma looks at Nagisa and says, “On three.” Nagisa nods firmly, preparing himself. It’s just a little bit of pain, and sure, it’s a big needle, but it’s nothing worse than being shot or something. He takes a breath in to prepare himself for the countdown, and that’s when he feels the needle slide into his skin. With a hiss of pain, Nagisa closes his eyes and digs his thumb nail into his pointer finger to distract himself, drawing blood when he feels it prick the other side of the wound.

  


“You said on three,” he manages, voice tight, and opens his eyes to stare at Karma. He looks completely focused, his tone distant when he replies, “I lied.” Nagisa's teeth dig into his bottom lip when the needle pierces him again, and Karma says coolly, “Almost done.” Nagisa doesn’t bother to reply.

  


He was right; the bullet wound is small, and with a few more seconds, Karma pulls the wound closed, and the worst of the pain is over, leaving Nagisa nearly immobile with a full-body ache that can only be compared to how a soldier feels after a long war. Karma bandages him, wrapping him like a present ready to be put under the tree. The constant pressure on his wound with his hand is relieving, and Nagisa releases a long, drawn-out sigh and closes his eyes.

  


“Hey, we’re not done here yet, so no sleeping. You’ve done enough of that,” Karma drawls, his voice annoyingly cocky, and Nagisa looks up at him. He’s standing now, a hand extended down to him, and Nagisa takes it. Karma basically hoists him up, slinging his arm around his shoulder, and it’s slightly awkward, thanks to the newfound immense height difference. Karma has to bend slightly to accommodate Nagisa, which the smaller boy is grateful for, and they slowly make their way back to the bedroom, no words exchanged.

  


Well, the mission to escape was a major failure, thanks to his own dumb mistake of falling over nothing. Now he’s going to have to wait until Karma either sleeps or leaves him alone. Nagisa guesses he won’t be sleeping for a while, so it will have to be the latter. Either way, he knows that he’s going to have to make a move soon, lest he want to invite more chaos and taint such a precious memory of Karma’s even more.

  


Nagisa is practically lowered by Karma onto the bed, not trusting his legs to support his weight. He doesn’t want to pull the blankets up - he’s already sweating - but before he can protest, Karma has him wrapped up tight in the soft fabric, and Nagisa frowns. It’s itchy.

  


“So, do you wanna tell me what you were doing sneaking around like that?” Nagisa looks away from Karma as if he can avoid the question entirely by acting like it never existed in the first place. Karma doesn’t accept that as an answer. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it; it’s not like you bled all over my table or anything, no big deal.”

  


Nagisa feels his head throb at the sarcasm. Well, he can’t directly tell Karma that he needs to leave this apartment unless he wants Karma to never take his eyes off of him, but he probably should tell him  _ something _ true. Karma hasn’t seen Nagisa in seven years; he probably won’t be able to distinguish a half-truth from a full one, but the talent of lying is hard to perfect unless born with it.

  


“I was looking for my knives, I get nervous without them now,” Nagisa chooses to say, looking back over at Karma. If he didn’t make eye contact, it would give off the impression that he’s lying, but the weight of Karma’s stare is something he underestimated, and he ultimately ends up looking to the ground. Karma sighs irritatedly, leaning back in his chair so that the front comes off the ground. 

  


“That’s it? Nothing else?” He asks, and Nagisa can’t tell if he bought the lie or not. Karma’s always been a suspicious person by nature, and he must realize that Nagisa’s lying tells have changed since junior high. Nagisa nods in response, praying that Karma doesn’t read too much into it. Thankfully, Nagisa seems to have gotten away with it, judging by Karma’s shift in conversation.

  


“So, an assassin, hm?” Oh no. Nagisa does not want to have this conversation right now, but he doesn’t want to ignore Karma either, so he replies, “Don’t act surprised, you knew I was going to be an assassin.” Karma doesn’t deny it, confirming what Nagisa said. The mood is awkward, almost tense, and Nagisa wishes that they could go back to junior high when they paid a visit to the International Space Station. 

  


“I thought you were going to do some political stuff in Tokyo,” Nagisa says, a question in disguise. Karma shrugs, dragging his eyes across the bedroom, taking in every detail for some reason Nagisa can’t yet pinpoint.

  


“I was supposed to be in a meeting right now, but I got a call from my mom saying that this place is going to be torn down in a week.” Nagisa isn’t surprised by that. Kunugigaoka has been undergoing a ton of construction recently in an attempt to ‘improve the town’, but Nagisa suspects that the town wants to become a better tourist spot so that way the highschool draws more attention. Karma seems to think so too if the slight frown he sports tells him anything.

  


Karma continues. “Never thought I would miss this place. My life is much better now, with my income and all. Do you know how much easier life is with a butler?” Nagisa can only imagine the luxury of settling down enough to hire one. “I’ll answer that one for you; a lot.” Nagisa huffs a laugh, but it’s dry. 

  


“Nagisa, you’re not giving me much to work with here. It takes two to talk,” Karma teases, and Nagisa snorts. 

  


“You would gladly talk to yourself all day, don’t lie,” he laughs, the sudden, jerking movement sending pain shooting through his body, and he abruptly stops with a wince. Karma either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it; either way, Nagisa’s glad he doesn’t mention it.

  


“You’re right, you’re right. I’m much more interesting than you, anyways,” Karma huffs in response, that infuriating cocky grin lighting up his face in a way Nagisa never thought he’d miss. Nagisa hasn’t had a lighthearted conversation like this in so long, he finds it almost impossible to forget about the deadly world of assassination.

  


“That’s not true,” Nagisa says, sitting up in the bed and leaning against the frame, despite the discomfort it causes. He wants to be on equal ground with Karma. “My life is definitely much more interesting than yours,  _ politician _ . Go file in your office or something.” 

  


“Maybe I will,  _ assassin _ . Remind me, next time I see an assassination credited to Viper to not overlook it,” Karma retorts, his voice somewhat reminiscent of a cat’s purr, and Nagisa is grateful for the hoodie; it covers the goosebumps he gets. 

  


“How do you know who Viper is?” Nagisa asks, going deadly serious; he’s sure that he never mentioned that being his name in the Underworld. How did Karma figure that out? He made sure that there’s been no evidence linking Viper and Shiota Nagisa. If Karma could figure that out, then perhaps he wasn’t as careful as he thought. He’s going to have to uncover what gave him away. 

  


“Because I have a brain,” Karma says, poking Nagisa’s head. Nagisa swats his hand away, feeling awfully similar to a cat in a dog pound. “Not to mention I’m a genius of sorts.” 

  


“I’m serious, Karma,” Nagisa says, straightening up so that he’s not slouching. Karma, thankfully, seems to understand that Nagisa isn’t playing around anymore. With a sharp glint of… something… in his eyes, he replies, “Calm down, hotshot assassin. I only recognized it because of that flashy name.  _ Viper _ .” He says the last word as if he were testing it for the first time. “It reminded me of how you used to fight, like a snake.” He pauses, that mischievous smirk returning. “I knew for sure once I saw that they think you’re a girl.”

  


Nagisa cuffs his head, and Karma hits the hand away playfully. “I told them that. They didn’t assume anything,” Nagisa says with no real malice. Karma retorts sarcastically, “Uh-huh, whatever you say.” Nagisa lets that one slide, not hitting Karma only because the thought of moving again makes him want to be sick, and Akabane Karma is not worth the effort. 

  


Nagisa is hit with a sudden wave of guilt. He just barged into Karma’s house, ruined half his furniture, and now Karma’s the one who’s fixing everything? Maybe he should have tried to head for the mountains anyway, despite the injury he sustained. The least Nagisa could do is apologize to Karma. 

  


“Hey Karma?”

  


“Hm?”

  


“Sorry for breaking into your house,” Nagisa says, slightly miserable and even more embarrassed. Karma, to Nagisa’s surprise, huffs a laugh. 

  


“You idiot. I almost killed you, remember?” Nagisa recalls that when he first broke in, Karma put him in a headlock and threatened to do some terrible things. Nagisa doesn’t blame him for that; that’s a pretty appropriate reaction to a break-in, especially for a former member of 3-E. Nagisa would do the same. “That makes us even.” Nagisa isn’t so sure about that, and he looks over at Karma.

  


Karma’s not looking at Nagisa; his eyes are trained on the ground, mouth twisted in a small, worried frown, internal thoughts whisking him away from the real world. What is he thinking about so furiously? Nagisa guesses that he’s probably considering why he’s sitting by Nagisa’s side in a wooden chair that Karma dwarfs, no doubt leaving him with aches from the awkward position he’s in, instead of lounging back in his ultra-expensive apartment in Tokyo with blinds that are controlled by a remote and a personal assistant trailing him. 

  


It’s a strange feeling, but Nagisa hopes that Karma’s staying with him because of something other than the obligation of helping out a friend; what’s even stranger is that Nagisa isn’t even sure  _ what _ he hopes binds Karma to that horrible chair, and he casts the subject far away from his brain before he thinks too hard on it. If he went down that road, he’d forget that he has to return to the underworld soon, unless he wishes to drag Karma into the mess he’s gotten himself into.

  


“What are you looking at?” Karma's voice pulls Nagisa from his mind, and he curses himself for zoning out while staring straight at Karma’s face. He feels his cheeks heat up and scrambles for a cover story.

  


“I’m just thinking,” Nagisa says, and Karma’s demeanor shifts. He always looks like he’s planning something, but now, it’s like a switch flipped from plotting to deadly. 

  


“Are you thinking of how you’re going to explain to me why you have two assassins after you?” Nagisa winces. He’s been expecting Karma to go digging for details soon, but that doesn’t make him any more willing to give them up. Nagisa looks over at Karma, and upon seeing the expression on his face, Nagisa knows that Karma won’t let Nagisa beat around the question like he had when asked why he was out of bed.

  


With a sigh, Nagisa explains, “I was doing a job for that famous businessman, Ona Kasumi, a few months ago. He wanted me to kill his kid for him.” Karma looks shocked at that, and Nagisa doesn’t blame him. Kasumi seems like a pretty decent guy to those who don’t know his true intentions, but beneath the surface lurks a monster. I mean, he did try and kill an eight-year-old. “I refused. I’ll never stoop that low. Kasumi got angry with me, saying that there’s the risk that I’ll leak his plans, and I said that I wouldn’t. 

  


“The first thing I did when I left his mansion was track down his wife and explain the risk her son was at. She told Kasumi that she went overseas for a vacation, and I hid them somewhere safe. Kasumi must have figured out that they were lying, though, because now he’s looking for them.” Nagisa pauses, and Karma’s back to his stoic self, everything hidden beneath his stony face. He’s impossible to read.

  


Nagisa continues, “A few days ago, I got an anonymous job to kill a stranger passing through here, with pretty decent pay. They gave me a time and place of the target, which was last night, but when I showed up, I was ambushed by those two assassins. They shot me, I started running, and well… you know the rest.”

  


Karma takes in all the information calmly, putting his hand to his mouth while he considers what Nagisa told him. Nagisa isn’t surprised that he’s taking this so well; Ona Kasumi is a huge face in business, and it wouldn’t surprise Nagisa if Karma had even worked with him on a few occasions.

  


“He’s going to send more assassins, right?” Karma asks contemplatively, face tight, and Nagisa replies, “Yes, for sure.” 

  


“Well, if they’re going to be coming for you, then you’ll be a pretty easy target with a gunshot wound. I’d be surprised if you could swat a fly right now.” Nagisa blinks. Is this really the time for insults? Nagisa’s about to ask if Karma understands the  _ severity  _ of the situation, but Karma beats him to it. “I guess I’ll have to keep you close then. Can’t have Ona Kasumi killing you, or else I’ll get bored in my office. Nobody assassinates with as much spunk as you, it's fun to read the reports.”

  


“They’re coming to  _ kill _ me, Karma-” Nagisa says, arms flailing, but he freezes once the weight of Karma’s words settles in. Did he just basically say he’s going to protect Nagisa? Or is Nagisa hearing things? No, Nagisa’s hearing is impeccable, thanks to years of listening carefully for the footsteps of his mother, then after that, of his targets. So he actually just said that.

  


Nagisa feels a warm, fuzzy feeling spread throughout his body, the feeling of it unexplainable and Nagisa’s at a loss for words. His body chants at him to  _ stay, stay with Karma in his home. Everything's okay here, you don’t have to be ready for the worst. _

  


The moment of peace is shattered when Nagisa feels a blinding pain from his wound, and he curls into a ball around it, white-knuckling the sheets with one hand, the other crushed between his knees and stomach. “Shit, Nagisa, your stitches!” Through his haze, Nagisa feels a hand on his back, and it grounds him, allowing him to fully process the words.  _ He can’t rip his stitches, which he might do if he keeps up this behavior. _

  


He gingerly uncurls himself, Karma’s presence and warm hand on his back keeping him from sobbing as he does so. After a minute or two of adjusting so that his gunshot wound isn’t at risk of suddenly spasming again, he only feels a fatigue unlike anything else he’s ever experienced before. Similarly to when he woke up, everything feels blurry, but one thought plagues him; he can’t stay.

  


The gunshot wound serves as a reminder of why Nagisa cut himself off from his past life; for the sake of keeping them safe. If Nagisa remained here, with his friends and family, they could be the ones who are on the kitchen table, and Nagisa can’t have that. 

  


Nagisa tries to stay awake for a while, grateful that Karma’s not trying to talk because Nagisa doesn’t think he can work up the energy to hold a conversation. 

  


“Go to sleep, Nagisa. I’ll play assassin, for now,” Karma says, voice low and heavy with something Nagisa can’t quite place, but he can never place anything with Karma. He lets his eyes flutter closed, and soon enough, sleep begins to take over, but not before he hears Karma say, “Good night, Nagisa.”

  


Karma doesn’t see Nagisa’s smile while he drifts away into the realm of sleep.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats up fuckers i have no clue how many chapters this will be but i'm worried because i'm starting to lose motivation. i really want to finish this, but i typically only write one-shots because i have commitment issues lol. i'll try my best though! i hope that this chapter was a little more light-hearted than the others, but it still needs angst because it wouldn't be a story from me if there wasn't a little sprinkled in evert chapter oops
> 
> pls comment i love validation and critiques bc i'm an attention whore lol i've been slowly devolving throughout this story here is my final form


	4. A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long-awaited fluff.

Karma doesn’t sleep; he’d already done enough of that. Now, he’s restless with the urge to do something other than sit around waiting for Nagisa to wake up.

  


Nagisa had brought up a valid point before he passed out that Kasumi is not just going to give up after one botched assassination attempt - more will follow, that’s a guarantee. Nagisa has every right to be worried, but right now, he should be focusing on healing rather than stressing over Kasumi.

  


Which is exactly how Karma ends up in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chicken noodle soup over the stove, a thin sheen of sweat on his face to show for his labors in the past hour. He’d been lucky enough that there were enough ingredients to cook an  _ actual _ good soup rather than a canned one; over the years, he became accustomed to food made by a professional chef and had even picked up a few tips and tricks of his own while watching them at work.

  


He lifts the ladle to his mouth and takes a sip of the broth. It tastes relatively similar to what he’s served in Tokyo, and he decides that this is as good as it’s going to get; it’s not like Nagisa would complain about it, even if it tasted disgusting. He’s too nice for that.

  


Which is ironic, considering he’s an assassin.

  


Karma grabs a bowl he set aside and pours until it’s full, double-checking to make sure there are enough noodles and chicken - a poor ratio is unacceptable, he's learned. Upon his approval, he puts the ladle back in the pot and picks the bowl up with a towel beneath it to avoid burning his hands.

  


He stills upon hearing the floor creak behind him, and already, possibilities race through his head too fast for most to process. Have the assassins already found them? How did they do it so quickly? His eyes land on a kitchen knife next to the pot, and Karma pretends that the bowl is too hot for his hands, setting it down and shaking his hands to 'cool them down'.

  


In a fluid motion, he snatches the knife and whirls on the intruder, prepared to utilize exactly what Korosensei taught them-

  


A flash of blue hair has Karma halting the knife just in front of a familiar pale neck. Karma quickly retracts the weapon, a sigh of relief escaping him along with a heaping pile of tension. 

  


“Nagisa, you’re supposed to be asleep,” Karma says, setting the knife back down and leaning back on the counter, arms folded. Karma can recall a long list of things someone shouldn’t do after getting shot in the past twenty-four hours and walking around nears  _ the very top of things to not do _ .

Nagisa, at least, looks a little sheepish, fiddling with the oversized sleeves of his hoodie. He looks pointedly at the pot of soup and says, “Something smelled good, so I came to check it out.”

  


“It was supposed to be breakfast in bed, but somebody just spoiled that plan.” Karma grabs Nagisa’s shoulders and is about to steer him to the kitchen table when he remembers that it had doubled as an operating table earlier, so he opts for the sofa instead. Knowing Nagisa, he’s probably sick of staring at the same four walls and windows, so the openness of the living room should do him well.

  


Gingerly, Karma assists in lowering Nagisa onto the couch, and with a groan of discomfort that sends fear shooting through Karma’s heart. Thankfully, he relaxes into the cushions with a pleased hum. Closing his eyes, he leans his head back, a small, content smile on his face. “I was getting sick of that room, thank you.”

  


“Criticizing my hospitality? How cruel, Nagisa,” Karma says with a smirk, turning back to the kitchen to grab the abandoned soup with the chatter of Nagisa ‘explaining himself’ following him. He’s so easy to mess with, and it’s just too tempting. 

  


When he returns and sits on a coffee table in front of Nagisa, the assassin is glaring at him with a deep frown, and Karma feigns innocence. “What?”

  


“You were messing around.”

  


He snickers, unable to contain it any longer, and Nagisa reaches for the bowl. Karma pulls it away swiftly, careful to not spill the steaming broth on Nagisa, and tuts, “Ah ah ah, you’ve done enough already, like going on a hike after being shot.”

  


Nagisa looks annoyed at that, and he says, deflated, “I can feed myself, I’m not an invalid. And it was barely a ‘hike’, I just walked to the kitchen! It was, like, ten feet at most.”

  


Karma smiles devilishly. “Say, ‘ah’!”

  


“I said I can-!” Nagisa is cut off by Karma abruptly shoving bowl to his face and pouring, and Nagisa reluctantly allows it. Karma drinks in Nagisa’s annoyance with a cocky smile, wishing he could take a picture of the shade of red his face has turned, much to the other’s absolute horror.

  


He doesn’t spit out the soup, and after a moment of Karma torturing him, Nagisa actually seems to enjoy the food, if the absolute bliss that crosses his face says anything. However, the moment is snatched away when Nagisa somehow manages to snake a hand around Karma’s wrist and twist it painfully.

  


He winces and hurriedly pulls his hand away, the bowl with it. “Wow, Nagisa, you’ve really grown a pair recently, seeing as half of the class was convinced you didn’t even have one.” Nagisa grips tightens at the snide comment before releasing him, and Karma can barely keep the relief from his face.

  


Though he had made a joke about it, Nagisa really has grown much stronger - it seems that potential had blossomed into something honed and deadly. Karma can’t help but feel a spark of pride, a  _ that’s my friend!  _ type of boast that he wants to shout to the world and listen echo, etching into people’s minds that Nagisa is gifted and improving rapidly.

  


Unfortunately, assassination isn’t something that most people appreciate, and so Karma will have to make up for all of those people’s (wrong) opinions.

  


“When did you learn to cook? Last I checked, Home Ec wasn’t your strongest subject,” Nagisa says, twirling a chopstick across his knuckles before reaching over to where Karma holds the bowl and scooping a generous amount of noodles.

  


“You pick things up in Tokyo.”

  


“No, you pick things up watching professional chefs cook for you.”

  


A surprised snort slips from Karma, and delight hounds him. He’s so used to people kissing his ass for promotions and raises, it's been a while since anybody treated him as their equal - and who better to put him in his place than Nagisa?

  


And Nagisa looks smug about it, too.

  


“You’re right, it’s one of the many pleasures of being a rich politician. My chef, Omori, makes delicious milk bread, too, it just melts in my mouth. What about your chef?” Karma watches that smug expression shift to annoyance in a heartbeat, and he snickers in devious pleasure.

  


“Not everyone has a chef that can whip up chicken noodle soup or whatever when you ask them to. My meals are just fine, and I don’t spend a million yen on them.”

  


“And may I ask what the last thing you ate was?”

  


Nagisa’s mouth thins and his eyes dart to the carpet. “A bowl of ramen.”

  


“Liar,” Karma chirps, setting the bowl on the table next to him and leaning forward, his face inches from Nagisa’s now.

  


Karma watches Nagisa’s throat bob with a cocky, lopsided grin and lidded eyes - the way he opens his mouth and closes it, then the darkening of his cheeks that follows. He doesn't even want to blink with the risk he might miss something.

  


“It was instant,” Nagisa surrenders, turning his face away, suddenly finding the wall interesting. Karma relents, ignoring the tug in his stomach when he retreats to give the poor boy some space. 

  


“And the truth comes out. Who would’ve thought the infamous assassin Viper would stoop so low as to eat instant ramen? I certainly wouldn’t have guessed it,” Karma says, and Nagisa shoots him a glare, though the remnants of a blush dampen its effects.

  


Nagisa gives up on the chopsticks, setting them soundlessly on the table before picking up the bowl. Karma is worried that he’ll burn his hand, but then he realizes that the long sleeves of his sweatshirt protect the fragile digits from harm, and his eyes crinkle.

  


The sound of Nagisa gulping down the broth is the only thing Karma hears, then a desperate gasping for breath. “Are you drowning yourself, Nagisa? I didn’t know my cooking was  _ that  _ good.” 

  


Another pout, and then that face is turned on him, in all its puppy-dog eye glory. Karma wants to walk away from it, but it’s magnetic, drawing him in and not allowing him to budge. “Have you eaten yet?”

  


Karma hasn’t had anything other than what he’s tested from the pot when he was slaving away at it, but Nagisa doesn’t need to know that. He also doesn’t need to know that food sounds like one step away from vomiting to Karma, thanks to the gory site he had stitched earlier. “Yeah - unlike some people, I care about what food I put in my body.”

  


“Who’s the liar now?” 

  


Shock grabs Karma by the throat, and he barely manages to keep his cool mask, but it must have wavered. There’s no way it hadn’t. Nobody has ever called his bluff before - he made sure of it by practicing the art of lying in mirrors. As a politician, the skill has proved itself invaluable to him time and time again.

  


Not even the entire nation of Japan could tell when he was lying to them, but this shrimp could?

  


Nagisa shoves the bowl to Karma’s lips, and he has no choice but to accept it, and gently, in Nagisa style, tilts the broth into his mouth.

  


He feels slightly sick when he swallows it, forcing it down, but he’ll do it so that Nagisa doesn’t worry. He’d do a lot of things so that Nagisa doesn't have to worry, but he chooses to not think about that.

  


When the bowl is pulled away, it’s when the broth has been drained completely, leaving stray noodles and chicken that Nagisa all-too-happily devours with the chopsticks, muttering something about ‘how being an assassin hasn’t dulled his manners and he’s not a caveman’.

  


Which is hilarious, considering the fact a noodle has plastered itself above Nagisa’s lip. How does one not realize that? They certainly aren’t light.

  


Karma doesn’t hesitate to reach out, and he notices how Nagisa freezes - he’d be stupid not to. 

  


“W-what are you…” Nagisa trails off when Karma plucks the noodle, and just like that, Nagisa slouches. “Oh.” 

  


Tossing the noodle back in the bowl, Karma decides to show mercy on Nagisa for once and give him an out. “Want any more?”

  


Seemingly composed, Nagisa manages, “No, I’m okay. Thank you, it was good.”

  


“You weren’t kidding about manners,” Karma mutters, grabbing the bowl and heading to the kitchen.

  


After depositing the bowl in the sink and briefly scrubbing it down, he returns to find Nagisa paging through a local newspaper from a few days ago intently, so immersed in the words that he doesn’t notice (or doesn’t acknowledge) Karma’s approach until he sinks down next to him.

  


“This place is so boring,” Nagisa says, rolling the newspaper and throwing it on the coffee table. Karma throws his legs up next to the discarded paper, grabbing the TV remote next to him and switching the television on. “I never remembered it being this boring before the End Class. Horrible, yeah, but never boring.”

  


It’s a strange thing to say because Kunugigaoka isn’t boring - it has its fair share of crime, and after the Korosensei situation, it’s been filled with scandals regarding the former teacher, like reported sightings and such. But Karma understands. “I know what you mean. It’s… wrong now. The first chance I got I was out of here and off to Tokyo.”

  


It’s probably worse for Nagisa, though. He had disappeared immediately after graduation and hadn't said anything about returning to the town, whereas Karma was forced to adjust in highschool. He had time to find closure, to make his peace.

  


The Viper hadn’t.

  


“Stop looking like I killed your dog, Karma. I’m just saying that I don’t normally spend so long in one place, let alone somewhere my target doesn’t exist. Honestly, I hang around Tokyo a lot too, so this place is just so… quiet.” Nagisa’s words contradict what Karma had originally thought, but his pinched face says that there is more to the story.

  


A roar from the television catches Nagisa’s attention, and just like that, the conversation is dropped. Karma turns up the volume - it’s one of those terrible Godzilla movies - and lets the movie distract him from intrusive thoughts.

  


After they watch the movie halfway through, Nagisa begins to shift more and more - so much so that Karma worries the bullet wound hurts or itches. He’s about two seconds from asking Nagisa outright what’s wrong when he murmurs, “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have dragged you-”

  


“If I hear one more apology out of you, I’ll kill you.”

  


“I’m sor-” Nagisa catches himself with a shy grin, just barely saving him from Karma’s wrath. While he might not have killed Nagisa, he certainly would have flicked him on the nose. Nagisa must have sensed it because his neck is craned away, far from Karma’s reach.

  


(Or so he thinks.)

  


Once he deems it safe to return near Karma, Nagisa’s air of seriousness returns. “But really, Karma, I need to fix this. Kasumi’s a man of wealth - he’s probably hired an assassin or two to scan the city for me. I know you said you would help me, but if we want to make it out of this not only alive but  _ successful _ , we need a plan.”

  


Nagisa looks troubled - with guilt, with worry, with both? Karma isn’t sure. But what he  _ is  _ sure of is that he never wants to see that look on his face ever again. So, with no small amount of hubris, Karma says, “What’s the big deal about letting those assassins find us anyway? We beat them last time.”

  


“Do I have to remind you of the hole in my stomach? My fighting skills won’t be as good as theirs this time,” Nagisa says dejectedly, glancing out a window like the threat is imminent (which it may very well be). 

  


He’s right, of course - the thought of facing more assassins without Nagisa to back him up isn’t a very pleasant one. 

  


In their hometown, a threat to Nagisa’s life could be prowling around, stalking them, waiting for Karma to show a moment of weakness to strike. He refuses to give them that moment they're looking for.

  


“So, a plan,” he says, and Nagisa nods. “Do you have any ideas already? Or do you just want me to do all of the work.” That earns him a playful punch, and he wants to wear it like a badge of honor. 

  


“ _ Sorry _ , not all of us can be class valedictorian,” Nagisa teases with a comfortable smile, and Karma never wants it to fade. It’s a miracle that he can still smile like that, after everything he’s gone through to be here. 

  


Karma wipes the grim thought away, forcing his signature cocky grin. He’s a fantastic actor, he’s discovered in the past few years. “You’re right, you’re right. I suppose I’ll take pity on you and think of something, but you’ll owe me."

  


Strangely enough, Nagisa tenses next to him. “Like, a debt?”

  


“Something like that.”

  


Nagisa chews on his bottom lip in consideration, and Karma frowns. Does he seriously think Karma will take advantage of him? To be fair, he is a politician housing an assassin, but firstly, he’s a… friend. The closest friend he has.

  


It takes Nagisa a few more tense seconds to arrive upon an answer, but it’s obvious when he does. It’s like the fight leaves him, and he slumps boneless against the back of the couch. “Fine, it’s a deal. Just please don’t do anything too crazy, in both the debt and the plan.”

  


Karma laughs, more to himself than anything. Nagisa eyes him warily, like he’s going mad. “Oh, you know me. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  


Still, Nagisa looks pale as a ghost, and this time Karma suppresses his snicker. It’s true, what he said. Any type of excess stress on Nagisa is something he would rather avoid, if not at all costs. 

  


“But what about you?” 

  


“Huh?”

  


Karma turns to Nagisa, frowning at the conflicted look the finds. Fiddling with his fingers, Nagisa says, “Well, you said you wouldn’t do that to me. But that’s only half of what I meant.”

  


Now it’s Karma’s turn to feel conflicted. “What do you mean? If you’re worried that someone might slip by me and get to you, don’t be. Have ye such little faith in me, o Nagisa?”

  


That doesn’t draw even a smile from Nagisa, who’s gaining confidence by the second. “No, no! I just don’t want you to do something stupid, like that time you almost killed yourself to get the jump on Korosensei. That’s not how I want to take down Kasumi.”

  


What a childish notion. How does Nagisa not understand that risks are necessary, especially in such deadly situations? Nagisa is making an effort to look anywhere but Karma - it’s not like the shitty coffee table is interesting enough to warrant such a thorough lookover. 

  


Karma says slowly, picking his words carefully, “But you get it, don’t you? You know that risks are unavoidable. That’s why telling Kasumi’s wife was a difficult decision - because you risked getting Kasumi on your tale. Just let me handle this.” Nagisa still doesn’t look at him, so Karma forces him to.

  


He stands up, crouching in front of Nagisa before he has time to look away, and is shocked.

  


His cheeks are tinged pink, eyes wide and… worried? Scared? Karma feels his heart beat a little faster at the sight. He wants to ask him what could warrant such a reaction, but Nagisa beats him to it. “No, Karma. I just _ wantyoutobesafe _ .”

  


The words are spoken too fast for Karma to comprehend. “Slow down, it's like you’re on fast forward. I’m not going anywhere.”

  


“I just want you to be safe! It doesn’t matter if they get through, or if it’s a risk. I won’t have it if it puts you in more danger than me!” Nagisa sputters, hands flying to his face. Once again, Nagisa manages to catch him off guard, and for the first time in years, his cheeks heat up.

  


“Oho, Nagisa? I never thought you’d go soft on me,” Karma says, leaning back on his heels. Nagisa’s hands lower enough to look at Karma with contempt, but whatever is on his face has Nagisa’s mouth falling open. “Whatever. I’ll think of something that works for both of us.”

  


He doesn’t let it show, but he’s shocked. Shocked that someone cares enough to look out for him, even more shocked that it’s Nagisa, the missing assassin of the End Class, doing so. Huh. The world really is an interesting place.

  


“O-okay. Thank you,” Nagisa says, words barely audible over the sound of Karma’s blood roaring in his ears. They sit like that, Karma on his knees, Nagisa comfortably draped on the couch, in a silence that lasts long enough that it should be awkward.

  


But it’s not. Because it’s just him and Nagisa.

  


“You know, I’m still expecting you to pay the expenses for that broken window.” 

  


"Uh-huh, and I expect you to pay me back for that time you ruined my school uniform."

  


And just like that, they lapse into their casual banter again, Godzilla still playing in the background. Somewhere along the line, Karma makes his way back onto the couch, and if he’s a little closer to Nagisa than before, who cares?

  


He certainly doesn’t, because after Godzilla ends and some shitty alien movie begins to play, Nagisa’s head lolls onto his shoulder. Karma hears the even breaths of sleep and allows Nagisa to rest. Sleep is crucial to recovery, and he’s going to need all the energy he can get before the assassins find them.

  


A little hitch in Nagisa’s breath is followed by a soft snore, and Karma carefully wraps an arm around his shoulders, savoring the warmth where their bodies press against each other. He’s allowed to enjoy this for now. Once he goes back to Tokyo, they’ll have to part ways. It’s inevitable, with their jobs.

  


Drool soaks into his shirt, and Karma carefully pulls his phone from his pocket. He swipes to the camera, throws up a peace sign, and snaps a few selfies along with solos of Nagisa passed out, lips parted. He debates recording the adorable snores, but doesn’t want to embarrass Nagisa too much, so he aborts the idea.

  


Nagisa can sleep - should sleep - but Karma won’t. Not until this entire thing is wrapped up. 

  


Plus, he’s plotting what to say in the calls he makes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello sorry for the wait but it's here! im actually really happy that i managed to stick with this story, and it's all thanks to those thoughtful comments you guys left. thank you so so much, they all mean a lot to me!
> 
> also this is fluff finally because they have suffered TOO much. 
> 
> one more note - when i was originally writing this, i had only a vague outline of where i wanted it to go, so i might add an extra chapter as an epilogue. MIGHT.


	5. A Place Called Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karma and Nagisa make their final move against Ona Kasumi.

Everything moves fast after Nagisa and Karma’s movie night, like the world is spinning on its axis twice the regular speed. 

Nagisa can barely find time to talk to Karma because his phone is practically plastered to his ear. Always, he’s planning the next step. He was never one to let his enemy ahead of him, even when he was fifteen.

As annoying as the constant chatter of the phone is, it's reassuring to see that some things never change. 

On the other hand, Nagisa feels like time is all he has. Time to sit around, time to watch the T.V., time to read four thick books, two of which he read twice. (All were great reads. Karma recommended them to him, so he’s not surprised.) 

It’s hard not to feel useless.

Still, whenever he tries to do something, Karma reprimands him sharply and orders him back to the couch or bed like someone shooing a pesky fly out the window. Fighting with Karma has always been in vain, but a twinge from the healing wound in his side is what convinces him to surrender nearly every time. His stitches were taken out after a week and a half of them sewn in him, but the pain lingers in constant aches and sharp jolts that shoot through his stomach when the muscles pull and contract.

He worries that his skin will split apart with the smallest of movements—even the slight tug of skin when he feeds himself drives unease deeper into his chest than any knife could reach. 

So far, the recovery has been significantly worse than the direct aftermath of the bullet in his chest. It pesters him to no end that Karma’s practically a maid to him, serving him delicious food and helping him stand up from the couch and shower and _everything_.

But at least Karma’s still there. After so many years without him, Nagisa can’t help but feel that Karma will disappear one morning like water slipping through his fingers. The residue it would leave wouldn’t be enough to satisfy Nagisa’s thirst. It would only serve as a cruel reminder of what could have been.

“Nagisa,” Karma calls from the kitchen. Nagisa cranes his head around the corner of the living room from his vantage point on the couch, remote slack in hand.

“Yeah?”  
  


“You hungry yet?”

Nagisa pauses. Then, “Depends. Did you make something good?”

“Gourmet sandwich. On the house,” Karma says, holding out a plate with a neat BLT smack in the center. Nagisa scrunches his nose in disgust at the sight of tomatoes and waves a hand in dismissal.

“I’ll pass, but thank you.”

Not a minute later, Karma emerges from the kitchen with two plates, one in each hand like he’s a waiter. 

“I said I’m not hungry,” Nagisa says, but Karma just smiles that annoying half-innocent, half-cocky grin. 

“Just take the plate,” he says, extending an arm to Nagisa. Nagisa only takes the plate out of fear that Karma might drop it. His bony fingers graze Karma’s in the exchange for only a split-second, but it’s enough to send shockwaves down to his bones.

Karma settles next to him, their legs brushing in a way that sends goosebumps all the way up Nagisa’s neck. They have yet to address _this_ —the way that they touch each other’s hands when they don’t need too and knock knees under the table and look a little too long at the other. Nagisa thinks it wise not to think too much about it. He’ll have to leave Karma soon after he heals. Unnecessary attachments will only get them both hurt.

Nagisa pokes at his sandwich, and that’s when he notices the lack of a certain red fruit.

He glances sidelong at Karma, but the man’s devouring his own sandwich, oblivious to anything but the flavors of his own creation.

His mouth twists into a smile that he knows oozes with affection and gratefulness—something he knows can be read easily, but he’s overflowing with emotion and can’t contain it. He isn’t sure he even wants to contain it. 

With delicate fingers, calloused from years of holding a dagger with nothing but murderous intent, he brings the sandwich to his lips and takes a bite.

It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. It is gone within seconds, bacon grease coating his lips like chapstick. Not a crumb is leftover.

He didn’t realize that Karma was watching him until he slumps back into the cushions of the couch with a hand over his stomach in satisfaction. He groans when the sandwich protests being eaten so fast.

“I thought you weren’t hungry,” Karma teases. Nagisa just rolls his eyes, not deeming him worthy of a response. They both know _exactly_ why Nagisa ate.

The T.V. occupies the empty silence comfortably, and Nagisa savors the feeling of warmth through Karma’s pants, wishing it was skin against skin instead.

Wait, what? Did he just wish that Karma’s pants were off?

He shakes his head to clear the image, some hair falling from his pigtails into his face. Pointedly, he ignores the incredulous look the other gives him. 

“So,” Nagisa says after regaining his cool. The flush that lingers on his cheeks is (hopefully) barely visible with only the light of the dim T.V. to illuminate his face. “Any progress with your coworkers?”

Karma’s face remains a clean slate, but Nagisa notices the clenching of his jaw, the way his hands fold in his lap. Karma says, “Don’t worry about it. Have I ever led you astray, my dear Nagisa?”

“Yes,” Nagisa replies immediately, but the lie weighs heavy on his chest.

Karma snickers mischievously like he's plotting to steal candy from a baby. “Maybe I have a few times—accidentally gotten us in fights and such. But at least I never led you down a boring path. That’s even worse than a dangerous one.”

“Not necessarily. I’d rather be alive and bored than dead and exhilarated,” Nagisa says. But he’s starting to think that there can be no ‘worse path’ with Karma, because the worst path is the one without him.

Nagisa regrets reading the romances Karma recommended to him. He’s clearly getting sappy. When did his heart begin to feel like it was going to erupt from his throat when Karma’s around? And when did the thought of leaving begin to make him want to vomit?

“Earth to Nagisa,” Karma says, waving a hand in front of Nagisa’s face. Nagisa bats the hand away with no real malice.

“I’m here. Just tired,” he says, the lie slipping smoothly from him. A perfect explanation for why he keeps zoning out, and slightly true. 

Karma’s intense gaze lingers on Nagisa for a beat too long, those yellow eyes as inquisitive as a cat’s—and as clever, too. Maybe his lie isn’t as good as he thought it was.  
  


Karma’s mouth parts to say something, but then the blaring of his ringtone interrupts him—a stupid pop song that grates on Nagisa’s ears. Karma makes no move to answer, thoughts dancing away at the speed of light in Karma’s mind, staring at Nagisa like he’s a riddle waiting to be cracked. It makes Nagisa uncomfortable enough to suddenly find the T.V. interesting. 

“Karma Akabane speaking… Yes… Of course.”

Karma rises from the couch, a few bones popping with a stretch. His voice trails off while he paces into the kitchen, and then the bedroom. 

Nagisa sighs a long breath, muscles relaxing and turning him into a boneless rag doll. It was so simple that first night, when Nagisa tried to run away from Karma’s apartment. If only he was successful. The guilt he feels about involving Karma with Kasumi turns his stomach—if anything were to happen to him, Nagisa would never forgive himself. 

He turns the T.V. on mute, listening instead to the pitter-patter of raindrops on the windows, a sweet melody sent from nature. The tune of them is enough to have his breaths slowing, his eyelids drooping.

The sound of the apartment door creaking has him stiffening, his heart stuttering for a moment. It’s such a slight sound that if Nagisa was anything but a trained assassin, he wouldn’t have caught it. Seven years of listening for the monster under his bed has made him paranoid—and rightfully so.

“Karma?” he calls out, but he gets no answer—only the soothing symphony of rain is audible. It’s like the air has stilled in the apartment, and Nagisa can feel his chest constrict. He regrets having called out to Karma—he broadcasted his location. 

Karma keeps weapons everywhere in the apartment, hidden in unique locations. He’d had Nagisa memorize where each one was for when Kasumi comes. It was the only thing that he felt he did that was productive over the past few weeks.

Nagisa slips a hand into the crack of the couch, and sandwiched between the cushions, he feels frigid iron caress his fingertips. He grabs it between his pointer and thumb finger, careful not to cut himself on the blade, and draws it from the couch.

It’s nothing special—just a hunting knife with jagged edges and a brown, leather grip. The grip isn’t molded to fit his hand like his custom one is, but it’s good enough. 

His legs don’t tremble when he stands, and though his bullet wound gives a slight twinge, the pain is muted. He can feel himself sliding into focus, bloodlust oozing into his very being. This is who he is. No, this is who _Viper_ is. 

He’s a mosaic of every betrayal, every lie, and every deception he’s ever experienced. He’s smoke from a wildfire being carried through the air on strong winds. He’s a stormcloud lingering in the sky, foreshadowing the disaster that will wreak havoc on the world. He is destruction itself, with blue pigtails and a smile plastered to his face. He is Shiota Nagisa.

And he is ready to take down Ona Kasumi. 

On silent feet, he peers into the kitchen. Nothing is out of place, no signs of intrusion, but Nagisa knows better. Assassins don’t leave footprints, they leave puddles of blood and an open window.

If they aren’t in the kitchen, then they are in the bedroom—where Karma is. Nagisa grimaces. Karma is capable of defending himself. He did nearly beat Nagisa once, and while their gap in assassination skills has signifcantly widened, Karma is as strong and intelligent as ever. _Trust me_ , Karma had said. Nagisa has to put his faith in that.

His grip on the knife tightens. Nagisa has been wearing the assassin gear he got shot in for days in preparation, the bloodstains nearly out and the bullethole sewed shut (Nagisa hadn’t known that Karma could sew, and it was a pleasant surprise). It clings to the slopes of his body, no loose fabric enabling anyone to yank him by his clothes. If only he’d sheathed more blades on his body.

He creeps toward the bedroom door, empty hand carefully turning the knob. His hand presses the door, hoping to open it slowly.

Then the door isn’t there, ripped open by the other side. He quickly relinquishes his grip on the doorknob, but not fast enough to prevent him from being dragged forward.

He stumbles, but quickly regains his footing.

Just in time to duck under the punch aimed at his face.

He rolls out of the way in a somersault. He uses the momentum of it to propel himself to his feet, but he has barely any time to react before his legs are swept out from under him. He crashes to the ground, pain searing from his chest outwards, so severe that he cries out. The knife stays in his hand just barely.

“Nagisa!” 

Nagisa’s head whips around to find Karma. He could die with relief upon seeing that Karma is still breathing, but then he sees it—the glint of silver pressed against Karma’s neck, the hand pulling his hair back so that his head is at an awkward angle that must hurt. There’s an assassin—a massive male, easily twice Karma’s size and weight—threatening his life. 

“Behind you!” Karma shouts, his throat bobbing dangerously against the blade. 

Nagisa doesn’t bother to look at the threat behind him. He just launches himself away, pouncing like an animal. His agile feet give him the purchase he needs to spring to his feet, knife hovering just in front of his face in a defensive position. He finally gets a chance to observe the room.

The assassin who attacked him is directly across the room, watching him with black eyes and a snide grin. Just a few feet away, at the foot of the bed, is Karma. He’s on the ground, the large man holding him at knifepoint from behind. Karma’s phone is still in his hand, though it doesn’t matter much—he can’t move any of his limbs unless he wants his throat slashed. 

“Viper,” the black-eyed one says. “Or would you rather me call you Nagisa?”

He stiffens despite himself. He isn’t surprised that Kasumi managed to discover his identity. Actually, he anticipated it. It doesn’t make it any less unnerving.

“Turns out you're not a girl after all. You could fool anyone with that hair and your _teeny tiny_ build. You’re, physically, the weakest in the room,” the black-eyed assassin jeers. Nagisa knows that he is well below average physically, but being an assassin isn’t just strength. His track record is proof of that. 

“And he _still_ killed Rhett and Jack. Little fucking bastard,” the larger one spits. He’s not as smart as the other assassin, Nagisa can tell. He’s a piece of meat, probably sent for the very reason that Nagisa is tiny and he is large. 

But the black-eyed assassin… Nagisa can tell that he’s the strategist. He has to be the one Kasumi sent to be the brains to the mission.

“I’m assuming you guys are here courtesy of Ona-san,” Karma chirps like he isn’t a jerk of the wrist away from bleeding out. He ‘s absolutely invigorated, eyes shimmering the same way that they glowed when he used to pick fights with bullies in alleyways and behind restaurants. He never grew out of being an adrenaline junkie. 

He hasn’t changed.

The black-eyed assassin’s smile widens unnervingly. He says, “How’d you guess? Ona-san didn’t like it much that Nagisa-kun over there decided to break contract and snitch to his wife. Nobody likes snitches.” He looks to Karma. 

“And to think that you’d be friends with Karma Akabane,” the black-eyed assassin sneers. The larger assassin tightens his grip on Karma’s hair. Nagisa feels a pang of worry, but Karma’s face has not an ounce of fear on it—only eager anticipation. 

“We were classmates,” Nagisa explains, though he isn’t sure why he feels the need to. 

“How sweet,” the black-eyed assassin says. “A bond that lasted for seven years, even though you left him behind.”

The words strike his chest like bullets. He has to take a deep breath to channel himself, ignoring how Karma stares straight through him. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Nagisa asks, knife white-knuckled in his hand. 

The black-eyed assassin’s eyes light up, like killing him would be a pleasure. “No, but I’ll kill Akabane. I’ll make it look like you killed him, and the world will see you as the villain. How will your little classmates feel when they see that Nagisa-kun killed their beloved Akabane? I bet they’ll despise you. I bet they’ll want to kill you for it.”

“I already hid Ona’s wife away. I’ll never tell you where she is,” Nagisa says. He changes the subject with a purpose in mind.

“Ona’s wife will be dead the moment we get to work on prying answers out of you. Ona-san will watch while we make you scream,” he says. “And we will drink to his wife and child’s death afterwards.”

Nagisa’s lips twitch upwards in a smug smile, but he wipes it away in an instant. He looks away from the black-eyed assassin for a moment, making eye contact with Karma. Karma’s face lights up, his tongue swiping across his lips like he’s preparing to feast. It shouldn’t, but it makes the hair on Nagisa’s arms rise and his stomach flip-flop.

Karma’s hand flies up to his neck, so quick that before the stronger assassin can slit his throat Karma has already pried his palm between the knife and his skin. Karma’s hand is sliced open in a flash of red, but he moves like he doesn’t feel it. Maybe he doesn’t. Who knows.

Nagisa forces himself to focus on his own battle. 

The black-eyed assassin doesn’t react impulsively, like Nagisa hoped. Instead, a smile twists the assassin’s face in cruel pleasure. A true angel of death.

“I knew better than to underestimate you,” he says, “and yet I still did. Let’s dance, Viper. Strike me with your fangs.” His smile grows wider. “If you can.”

He doesn’t let the taunts disturb him. Once an assassin becomes panicked or enraged in the fight, the fight is over. 

But he does take the attack.

He darts around as fluidly as a water flowing over rocks in a stream, moving and contorting in ways that he’s picked up over years of leaping through windows and scaling balconies. He feints a slash at the assassin’s chest, then aims the pommel of the knife at a pressure point in his side.

The assassin leaps back, and Nagisa’s strike falls short. The assassin brings a fist down at Nagisa’s cheek, but he catches the man’s wrist before it connects with his face. Using Aikido methods, he manages to redirect the momentum of the punch over his shoulder.

The assassin stumbles, and Nagisa takes the opportunity to utilize the assassin’s weakness. He uses the redirected momentum to yank himself up into a triangle choke, wrapping his legs around the assassin’s neck and using his own body weight to carry them both to the ground. 

The impact drives searing pain through Nagisa’s shoulder, and his gunshot wound screams at him. But he pushes it away—that’s not what’s important now. 

His knee presses in on the assassin’s carotid. There’s a gurgling noise as the man struggles to breath, but Nagisa only squeezes tighter and tighter. He can’t lose. It’s not an option. 

An elbow drives itself deep into his chest, digging into the gunshot wound and knocking the breath from him. Nagisa gasps, and the assassin manages to pry Nagisa’s legs apart enough to slip his head from the choke. Nagisa’s knife slips from his hand in the struggle to catch his breath, but he can’t find the energy to grab it. Not when his chest feels moments away from shattering.

His _stupid_ gunshot wound. It’s flaring up, the feeling of it like thousands of needles jabbing his stomach, his chest, his abdomen—everywhere. 

The black-eyed assassin is panting on his hands and knees. Nagisa barely manages to shuffle to his feet, a hand pressed protectively over his injury. He eyes his knife, but it’s out of his reach.

The black-eyed assassin notices his weakness, narrowing his eyes at where Nagisa defends his chest. Nagisa can practically see the moment the black-eyed assassin puts two and two together, a smirk overtaking his features.

“The Viper’s fangs aren’t as sharp as they seem,” he drawls. He reaches into a sheath at his side, pulling out a long, wicked knife with a curve at the end. A Reaper’s Scythe. Very fitting.

“Ona-san only told me not to kill you,” he says. “He never said that you had to be in perfect condition.”

Nagisa’s stomach lurches. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Nagisa sees Karma straddling the muscular assassin, bringing his fist down on his face again and again. The muscular assassin bucks his hips to unbalance Karma, then grabs him by the neck and slams him to the ground. Karma grunts, eyes bulging in his useless strain against the hold.

Nagisa doesn’t know what overtakes him, but he isn’t in control of his body anymore.

The black-eyed assassin lunges at him, but Nagisa sees it coming. In this state, he thinks he could see anything coming.

Nagisa sidesteps. The knife misses his chest, and Nagisa doesn’t hold back this time—his fingers snatch the man’s wrist and twist. He feels bones crack beneath him, reverberating around the room.

The assassin screams, his knife clattering to the floor. Nagisa doesn’t waste his time with a beaten man. 

He charges at the muscular assassin strangling Karma, leaping onto his back. His arms wrap around the man’s neck in a chokehold, his legs cling to the chest like an octopus. He will not relinquish his grip until Karma’s safe, because Karma’s in pain and he should _never_ be in pain. 

The muscular assassin tries to breath, but only a strangled noise comes from his throat. Nagisa contricts him like a snake wrapping around a mouse, strangling him to death. He’d heard of a snake who killed an alligator once. This must be how it felt when it heard the alligator take its final breaths.

“Don’t you hurt him,” he snarls.

The assassin sits up on his knees, fingers grabbing Nagisa’s arms. He scratches wildly like a cornered animal, raking his nails up and down his slender arms. Miserable wheezes are the only noise he makes, and satisfaction rings deep in Nagisa. 

Blood trickles from the assassin’s claw marks on Nagisa’s arms, but it feels like a bee sting to him. He just tightens around the man, clinging to him like a morbid backpack.

Without warning, the man slams himself onto his back. Nagisa is crushed between the enormous weight of him and the floor. His head slams into the ground, breath whooshing from him with a strangled yelp. 

His chokehold is forced to release, and the assassin rolls off of him onto his hands and knees, gulping air desperately. Nagisa groans and curls in on himself. He can’t get up. It hurts too bad. 

Nausea roils deep in his gut, bile rising in his throat. He barely manages to swallow the vomit.

He glances at the muscular assassin. Behind him, near the doorway of the room, Karma swings a roundhouse kick at the black-eyed assassin. The assassin ducks beneath it, but Karma is prepared. He grabs the back of the man’s head and pushes it down—right into his knee. 

Blood spatters, the crunch of the nose ringing in Nagisa’s ears. It’s a satisfying sound.

Nagisa’s vision focuses and unfocuses as the fight moves out of range, shuffling into the kitchen. Everything’s blurry. He can barely define the lines of his own fingers.

But then he sees the knife just a few feet away from him. It’s as clear as daylight, illuminated like a halo.

He reaches for it, but a meaty hand beats him to it. It snatches his hope away.

The larger assassin grabs Nagisa’s hair and hoists him to his knees. The world spins with the sudden displacement.

Nagisa’s back is to the assassin, but before he can disarm him, the knife is pressed to his throat. His heart feels like it’s about to pound right out of his chest.

“You fucking brat,” the assassin grits out, breath tickling Nagisa’s ear. He shivers despite himself. “My neck’s going to be sore for days. I wasn’t even gonna kill you. Just the other one. If I killed you, Ona-san would have my head on a stick. _And_ I wouldn’t get my pay.

“We’re going to stand up now. Don’t slit your throat open,” the assassin warns. Nagisa forces himself to not devolve into a state of panic, taking deep breaths. He’s been in the position multiple times before, and yet he’s still alive. He can do this. 

They slowly stand, the knife a steady threat on his neck. The pressure of it isn’t eased for a single second that Nagisa could take advantage of. Annoyance tingles deep in his chest. 

This entire situation is unnecessary and inconvenient. What happened to the plan?

The large assassin shuffles them into the kitchen at the pace of a snail. One stumble from either of them, and Nagisa would be dead. 

The black-eyed assassin’s face is a bloody mess, but Karma’s isn’t much better. His brow has been split open, blood dribbling from his nose to his lips in a morbid lipstick.

“Oye, Akabane! I’ve caught your Viper,” the large assassin shouts. Karma freezes, and the black-eyed assassin drives a fist through Karma’s face. 

Nagisa winces at the noise. But Karma has always been a tank, and he takes the punch honorably. He notices how the black-eyed assassin uses his left hand, not his right one—his right one is bent at a bizarre angle, no doubt radiating pain with every movement. It’s a wonder how he can still fight.

Karma trails his eyes down Nagisa form, then back up to his eyes. 

“You good?” he asks, ignoring the black-eyed assassin.

“I’ve been better,” Nagisa says with a watery smile. Karma grimaces.

“Same here.”

“Stop chatting!” the large assassin says, jostling Nagisa around dangerously. “I’ve got your boy here.”

The black-eyed assassin butts in. “Karma, I know you won’t risk his life. I’ll take yours, but Nagisa over there will live.”

The black-eyed assassin reaches for something on the ground. It’s his wickedly-curved knife from before. 

“Any last words?” he asks. 

Nagisa can feel a plan rapidly forming. They can’t kill him, lest they want Kasumi to kill them. 

With all his might, he slams an elbow back into the man’s groin (the perks of being short). Instead of slashing his throat like he promised, he just drops the knife. His arms clutch at where Nagisa hit, doubling over in pain. Rookie mistake. 

Nagisa leaps into the air. While suspended, he whirls around, using the momentum of the jump to place a well-aimed kick at the larger assassin’s neck—striking a vital pressure point. 

The man collapses like a sack of potatoes, crashing against a table. Nagisa lands silently on his toes.

“A true assassin doesn’t make noise when they fall,” Nagisa says, toeing at the man’s head distastefully. That’s what he gets for almost killing Karma twice. 

“That was quick,” Karma says. Next to him, the black-eyed assassin lies bonelessly on the ground, moaning in pain.

Nagisa frowns. “Where are they?”

“Late, as usual,” Karma says. He folds his arms and leans on one foot. “It’s fine. It all worked out anyways.”

Someone knocks on the door, twice, and then once more.

Karma and Nagisa look at each other warily. Karma reaches down and grabs the curved knife from the black-eyed assassin’s limp palm. While he’s crouched down, he pokes at the black-eyed assassin’s nose, savoring the pained whimpers he gets in return.

“Cut it out,” Nagisa scolds. Karma shrugs, then goes to the door. Nagisa prepares a defensive stance, fists raised in front of his face. 

Karma doesn’t bother to ease the door open. He opens it as if he were ready to welcome the person inside, knife in hand.

“Karma-kun! It’s been too long!”

Nagisa lowers his fists, relaxing despite the two assassins on the ground. A smile curls his lips, eyes crinkling. 

“Bitch-sensei,” Karma quips. “You’re late.”

Irina looks no different than when she was teaching the End Class, and neither does Karasuma. As fit and flawless as ever, despite time running against them. Nagisa’s breath catches in his throat at the sight of them so close after so long.

(Because of course he’s watched them from a distance. He has watched all his classmates and teachers from a distance. How could he stay away?)

Karasuma says nothing. He only looks at Karma for a moment before shifting his attention to Nagisa. His mouth tightens.

“Hi, Bitch-sensei. Karasuma-sensei,” Nagisa says with a bow of his head, not entirely sure of what to say. The pair know his occupation and record, and they work for the government. They can’t be proud of what he’s done.

And yet they still came when Karma called them.

Irina flies across the room in a flash, nearly tackling Nagisa in a hug. The only reason he stays upright is because he uses the table for support. His gunshot wound aches, but the hug is so nice and warm and something he’s longed for for years. 

Irinia releases him only to grab his shoulders and straighten him up. He’s forced to look her in the eye.

“Young man,” she begins, and Nagisa can sense the oncoming lecture. “If you ever run off like that again, so help me god I will track you down and strangle you myself! Do you even know how much _stress—”_

“Irina,” Karasuma interrupts. He hovers just behind her, steely gaze boring straight into Nagisa. His throat is suddenly dry. 

Irina huffs, but she retracts her hands from Nagisa’s shoulders anyways. 

“Nagisa,” he says, voice hard as iron. There’s a moment of hesitation, like he wants to prolong Nagisa’s suffering.

“We missed you.”

Huh?

Karasuma looks almost sheepish, averting his gaze to the wall. But Karasuma can’t be sheepish. He never gets sheepish.

Right?

Nagisa can’t help but smile, small and hidden. He says, “Thank you, Karasuma-sensei. I missed you all too.”

He hasn’t admitted that out loud in years. It’s been a concealed truth that only existed in his soul, now laid bare for the world to see. He isn’t sure yet if it’s a relief.

“Enough of this cheesy shit,” Karma says, ever the killsport. “We have to get Nagisa out of here before the police get here. Unless, of course, you want to see him behind bars for the rest of his life.”

Karma has the same brilliant mind as ever. His plan worked flawlessly, save for Irina and Karasuma’s late entrance.

Irina’s eyes widen. “Wait, we just reunited with Nagisa! Why do we have to get rid of him now?” she pouts.

Karasuma brings a hand to his head. His forehead is wrinkled in irritation. He says, “Did you ignore me in the car?”

“Maybe. It’s not my fault you were boring.”

A vein pops in his forehead. With no small amount of patience, he explains the plain Karma devised. 

“Karma-san made sure to be on a call when the assassins attacked. He used the government official on the phone as a witness, and he and Nagisa convinced them to confess to the crimes Kasumi committed. After that, Karma hung up. We were supposed to step in at that point, but you had to do your _makeup_ for an assassination. Their fight wasn’t part of the plan—we were already supposed to have arrested them.”

“But why do we have to get rid of Nagisa if he saved Karma? Shouldn’t he be a hero?” Irina asks in confusion. She looks at Nagisa like he might disappear any moment, which is fair. It’s what he did seven years ago.

“He’s still an assassin. One of the best in the world, with hundreds of confirmed kills The government has been trying to take him down for years,” Karasuma explains. Irina makes a noise of understanding.

She ponders that, bringing a finger to her lips. Her gaze burns Nagisa. 

“Nagisa,” she says sternly. “Do _not_ leave us again. Any of us. Did you know that the End Class looked for you for years? Some still search for you now. Your mom tried to hold a _funeral_ for her lost son.”

Nagisa can feel his lip quiver. He swallows thickly, then says, “I couldn’t stay. Not after killing Korosensei. There’s no home for me here.”

“You dumbass,” Karma interjects. His shoulders are tense, frown a slice across his face. “You had to be the one to kill Korosensei because you were the best of us. You’re the embodiment of everything Korosensei taught—his star student. He was honored to be killed by you, Nagisa. It was your graduation., not a murder.”

“Whether that’s true or not, there’s still no place for me in Kunugigaoka anymore. Keeping in contact would only put my classmates at risk. I mean, I’ve just reconnected with you and you’ve almost been killed twice.”

“There’s not a place for me here either, but I didn’t cut contact with everyone and run off to kill people like a psycho. It doesn’t matter to anyone that you’re an assassin. They all know the risks of looking for you, but they still look. Just give them a chance,” Karma says. 

Nagisa goes to reply, to deny him, but Karma isn’t done. Karma says, “Come back to Tokyo with me, even if it’s only for a day. Talk to your friends. Stay with me.”

“Stay? With you?” Nagisa repeats. He’s been so focused on leaving that not once did staying cross his mind. 

“Why not? I’ll buy you a hotel room or something near my apartment and we can go out to lunch with the End Class. But you have to talk to them,” he says. “Or else I’m kicking you out.” 

That’s fair. But the risk… is it worth it?

“If you don’t say yes, I’m kidnapping you and forcing you to say hi to them,” Irina says. Nagisa can’t help but huff in amusement. Bitch-sensei, much like Karma, remains the same as she always was. Karasuma nudges her.

“I think it’s time for us to go,” Karasuma says. Irina frowns, but Karasuma has already taken her by the arm.

He drags her to the door. She waves wildly at them. “Bye-bye, Karma-kun! Nagisa-kun, if I don’t see you back in Tokyo, I will—”

The door shuts, effectively cutting her off.

Karma and Nagisa exist in silence. Once again, the rain lulls them both into a sense of security.

“How long do I have?” Nagisa asks.

Karma looks at a clock above the microwave. “Not long. Only a minute or two before the police get here.”

Nagisa hums, glancing out the window, a hand on his bullet wound. He doesn’t have words to describe how grateful he is for Karma’s protection, for Karma’s company, for Karma’s caretaking—for Karma. “Karma, I—”

“Don’t thank me. You can thank me by not forgetting about me the moment you leave this apartment. I spent so long looking for you—who would’ve thought you’d be the one to find me? Fate likes to play with us, doesn’t it? It always brings us together, Nagisa.”

Nagisa’s chest swells, his vision blurring. Why is it so hard to breath? He’s felt this before, but only with Karma. He can’t imagine anyone else ever making him feel so warm. 

An idea flits through his mind, there and gone in an instant.

He doesn’t think about it, he just does it.

Tenderly, he extends a hand to Karma’s face. Karma’s eyes widen when Nagisa’s palm cups his cheek, thumb trailing over his cheekbone like he’s made of glass. He faintly recalls water dripping from his palms—he can see Karma through the window of his Tokyo apartment, but never closer. 

“I’m not letting you slip through my fingers,” Nagisa murmurs. “Not this time.”

Then Karma’s lips are on his. He isn’t sure who leaned it first, but it doesn’t matter.

Karma’s hands are on his face, running through his hair, trailing goosebumps down his body. Their lips slot with each other like two pieces of a puzzle, meant to be together. Always. In every lifetime, Nagisa would return to him. He would rip the world apart with his bare hands to be with him.

When they part, they don’t pull away. Their foreheads lean against each other, sweat and blood intermingling in a gritty mural, and they stare at each other. It’s an embrace

“Nagisa,” Karma says breathlessly. His cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide. “Come home to me.”

How could Nagisa say no to that?

“I think I’ll always be at home with you.”

They part after that, with no other words. None are needed—they said all that needed to be said. It’s hard to slip from Karma’s window with his injuries, but all of Nagisa’s wounds seem superficial. He still makes it a priority to see a doctor.

And he doesn’t look back at Kunugigaoka. He looks ahead to Tokyo.

  
  


\----

  
  


Nagisa fiddles with the T.V. remote for a good channel, but hotel T.V.s only offer boring shows. He settles for the TV Tokyo, the only news station available.

Settling back into the pillows of the bed, he props his arms behind his head. His bullet wound has long since healed—it’s been over two months since he’d crashed through Karma’s apartment, bleeding and frantic. One-and-a-half months since he kissed Karma goodbye. Since then, he’s returned to Tokyo, taking on a few assassinations with particularly high prices. 

It has bored him, his life in Tokyo. There’s only one person who could make him laugh until his stomach aches, and he’s probably at a meeting in some stuffy suit, discussing the future of Japan with ambassadors from around the world.

A grin ghosts his face at the familiar face that greets him from the screen, a superficial smile illuminating his features. A news reporter gestures to the image of Karma, explaining the news with a solemn face.

“...Akabane contributed to the arrest of Ona Kasumi, a billionaire beloved by all. Who would’ve thought he’d plot to assassinate his wife and daughter? Akabane barely managed to escape with his own life after the desperate billionaire sent four assassins after him, all of which he disarmed and turned over to the police. Councillor Terada Keiichi was on the phone when the assassins broke into Akabane’s apartment…”

He huffs. The news really stretched the truth this time. How does the public even believe this? It’s inconceivable. Who wrote this?

His thumb presses the ‘next’ button on the remote, and some Spanish show flickers to life. Who knows what it is. He’s not here for the T.V.. 

Speaking of which, where the hell is he? Nagisa’s been waiting for over an hour now. Karma’s the one who gave him the damn hotel room with a time that he would visit that’s long since passed. 

Someone knocks on the door. He flies to his feet, darting across the room in seconds. Without checking through the peephole, he opens the door.

And he looks down at a short old lady. Her golden name tag reads ‘Osada Aoi’ and below it the name of his hotel. 

He deflates. 

She asks, “Excuse me ma’am, do you need any pillows?”

Nagisa cringes at being misgendered, but disappointment is what hollows him out. “I’m okay, thank you. Have a nice day.”

He waves her a small goodbye, shutting the door with a click. Pressing his back to the door, he slides down miserably into a small ball. He rests his forehead on his knees.

When did he become so reliant on Karma? He’d lived without him for seven years, so what changed?

Nagisa’s fingers reach up to his lips, brushing over them with a feather-light touch. He can still feel the warm press of Karma to them, the way he wished to stay like that forever.

Another knock has him flinching, hand flying back to his side. Like he’s been caught by his mother reading an inappropriate magazine. 

He shouts, trying not to sound too annoyed, “I’m sorry, I don’t want any pillows!”

“Who said I had pillows?”

Nagisa shoots up faster than he ever has. He nearly yanks the door off of its hinges in his haste.

Low and behold, Karma stands before him in a business suit, that cocky grin of his so at home on his chiseled face. 

“Hi,” Karma says, and Nagisa grabs his tie and tigs him into the hotel room.

“Do you,” he says, slamming the door, “have _any idea_ ,” he turns to face him, staring up into those bright eyes that glint with all the knowledge in the world, “how long you made me wait?”

Karma raises his wrist to check his watch. “I’m only an hour late,” he says. 

“Only?” Nagisa says, crossing his arms. 

“I had to wrap up some things. Damned Russian ambassador stayed after to ask me questions. I almost told him to go away, that I had a special guest to meet.” 

Nagisa hmphs, looking away in irritation. Fingers wrap around his face, gently pulling him to look back at Karma.

Nagisa could melt when he sees the warmth that lights up Karma’s eyes, not an ounce of calculation and distrust. The smile he wears is beautiful, so genuine that Nagisa feels like he’s been punched. 

Karma leans down, and their lips connect. The kiss is chaste, but it’s so right, like the answer to a question that has plagued Nagisa since birth.

“Am I forgiven?” Karma asks. 

“We’ll see,” Nagisa says. Karma laughs breathily, wrinkles creasing his eyes and a dimple etching into his cheek. 

“I’ve scheduled a lunch with our classmates,” Karma says, and Nagisa looks up at him sharply. “They’re all excited to see you.”

“When?”

“In twenty minutes.”

Nagisa sputters. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Karma’s smile turns devious. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Nagisa groans, leaning against a wall. “Karma’ they’re going to hate me.”

Karma snorts. He brings up a hand and flicks Nagisa’s forehead lightly. “For someone so smart, you can be a real idiot. Some of them are going to be mad at you, yeah, but they’re allowed to be. You left for seven years without a word. All you can do is try and make it up to them. They really just want to see that you’re okay.”

Nagisa takes a deep breath and releases it through his nose. Karma’s right. Karma’s always right. It’s annoying.

“Okay,” he says. His resolve is unshakeable. He needs to do this. “Let’s go.”

“You’re ready?”

Nagisa glances at Karma, a wave of affection threatening to grab ahold of Karma and never let him leave the hotel room. He gingerly reaches out for his hand and laces their fingers together. The calluses of his palms are met with the soft skin of Karma’s, fingers slotting together like they had been molded for only each other. They were made for one another.

“I’m ready.”

And Nagisa will never let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit its been so long. hello everyone. i said i would finish this, and here i am. I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT BUT ITS FINISHED NOW OKAY???? THANK YOU FOR THOSE WHO STUCK WITH IT FOR ALL THIS TIME
> 
> thank you all for the fantastic responses the story has gotten. i never thought my silly little fic would get like 400 kudos, so thank you all so much <3
> 
> comments are always appreciated! whether it's feedback or critique, i always love reading them. i hope u enjoyed this final chapter and conclusion to the chronicles of assassin nagisa. and i hope u all have beautiful days!!


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